You Can See a Lot Just by Observing
by ltjvt1026
Summary: Ever wonder sometimes about things you see during an episode of NCIS? Me too. This is where I try to answer those burning questions. If you have one leave it in a review. I might turn it into a story. R&R Please.
1. Boxers vs Briefs

**Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS or Yogi**

**Author's Note: **While watching a recent NCIS marathon on USA Network I saw something curious. All

during Season one and part of two Tony was wearing a shoulder holster. Then, he was

wearing a hip holster like everyone else. This is my take on why. Oh yes, the MRH

makes a guest appearance at the end

"_You can see a lot just by observing."- Lawrence Peter Berra_

**Bethesda Naval Medical Center, Trauma Room**

Senior Field Agent Anthony DiNozzo groaned. The painkillers were just starting to kick in. He was lucky. The gunshot wound to his shoulder was through and through. No arteries hit, no bone damage. However, the hole in his shoulder was nothing compared to the hole the Boss was gonna rip in another part of his anatomy.

It was a "routine" bust of a suspected wife beater who had put his Navy Lieutenant spouse in the hospital. Who knew the guy would come up with a pistol.

Tony went to draw his SIG from its shoulder holster. The SIG snagged on the lining of his suit jacket. He couldn't complete the draw and the dirt bag put one round into him. Gibbs and Kate put several rounds into the dirt bag, earning him a one way trip to the Mallard Inn.

For a year Gibbs had been nagging him about the shoulder rig. Tony had put him off. Tony didn't want to switch to a hip holster. He'd have to have all his suits altered to cover the bulge of the handgun/holster combo. His shoulder holster didn't leave a bulge. DiNozzo always considered it a boxers vs. briefs type question. Personal preference.

Tony watched the curtain. As soon as Gibbs got here, personal preference was out the window.

**Two Months Later, MCRT bullpen, Friday 1615 hrs.**

It had been a quiet week. No major cases. Paperwork had been caught up. The weekend beckoned.

Tony was happy. This morning he had gotten the e-mail from Medical clearing him for full duty starting Monday. No more holding down a desk while the team went out on the street.

Tony stood up and said, "See you Monday, Gibbs. I'll be back to full duty." Senior Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs looked up from his computer with a semi smirk. "You'll be seeing me sooner than that DiNozzo."

"Boss?" said Tony. Gibbs said, "Pistol practice. I'll pick you up tomorrow morning at 0700. Bring an old suit jacket you won't mind getting dirty. Oh yeah, don't bother bringing that shoulder rig."

Gibbs tossed Tony a well broken in hip holster. "That'll fit your SIG." "But Boss..." Tony said. "No buts DiNozzo. The shoulder holster is history. If I see it again, I'll kick your ass so hard your great –grandkids will feel it."

"C'mon Gibbs it's the weekend" whined Tony. "Right "Gibbs responded "so make sure you're out front of your place on time."

**In Front of Tony's Building, Saturday 0700 hrs.**

When Gibbs pulled up in front of DiNozzo's building Tony was saying goodbye to a young lovely in a very short party dress. She seemed somewhat perturbed to be going home in a cab.

"Hey, DiNozzo let's go." "On it, Boss" said Tony. Tony climbed into the cab of Gibbs' blue pickup. As they pulled away Tony looked into the pickup's bed. "What's in the coolers Gibbs?" "Water and Gatorade in one, subs for lunch in the other" said Gibbs.

Tony groaned, "How long is this gonna take Boss?" "That depends on you Dinozzo."

**Pistol Range, The Basic School, Quantico MCB, Saturday 0745 hrs**

"How much ammo did you bring Boss?" asked Tony. He was looking at the numerous cardboard cases stacked in the bed of the truck. "One thousand rounds" said Gibbs. "I better not have to use 'em all either." "No sweat" said Tony. "I'll have us outta here in no time."

"DiNozzo, I appreciate your confidence. But just to be safe, the M/Gunnery Sgt. that runs the pistol program let me have the range for the day" said Gibbs.

Gibbs knows the problem wasn't going to be the actual shooting. The problem was going to be retraining Tony's muscle memory. For years Tony had been reaching under his left arm to draw his weapon. Now he had to reach for his right hip.

For the next hour all Tony did was draw from his right hip and present his SIG to the target 7 yds downrange. At first, much to Tony's embarrassment his right hand refused to cooperate. It kept trying to dive under his left arm.

Gibbs, not wanting DiNozzo to get frustrated stayed supportive. He gave Tony breaks when it looked like he was going to throw his hands up and walk away.

Finally the right hand started to cooperate and go to the right hip. Now the jacket went on. Gibbs showed DiNozzo the proper way to sweep the jacket away from the holster to start his draw.

At noon Gibbs called a halt for lunch. Though he'd never admit it, Tony was glad. Food, some liquids and time off his feet recharged him. "So, Boss, how much longer?" "Well DiNozzo, let's run the qual course and find out" said Gibbs.

By 1400 hrs Gibbs was satisfied his Senior Field Agent wouldn't be a threat to himself or others when he hit the street on Monday. After Tony's last shot, Gibbs handed him a broom. "Sweep the brass into a pile, then go get the shovel from the range house" Gibbs said. "But Boss..." "Whose brass is it DiNozzo?" "On it Boss" Tony said dejectedly.

Later, as the two agents loaded their gear in the back of the truck, the throaty growl of a high performance engine could be heard. Tony saw a small smile flit across Gibbs' face. A silver convertible with a stunning red head driving pulled up.

"Afternoon, Very Special Agent DiNozzo" she said sweetly. "How's your shoulder?" Gibbs tossed Tony the keys to his truck. "Close your mouth and take my truck back to your place" Gibbs said. "I'll pick it up later." Gibbs walked around to the passenger side and got in. The red head put the car in gear, smiled and made a sweeping turn back onto the range road.

"Man, she actually talked to me, wait 'till I tell Kate" Dinozzo said aloud. The day hadn't been a total loss after all.

**A/N:** So whatta ya think? I also spotted something for McGee, so he's next. If anyone else has seen anything let me know and I'll try a story.


	2. Cardinal Sin

**Disclaimer: I still don't own 'em, but damn they're fun to play with**

**Author's Note:** I know in the last chapter A/N I said McGee was next. But when I saw this I changed the batting order. I apologize now. I'm about to commit what a lot of you will consider blasphemy. I'm gonna speak ill of "the honored dead" (that's for you DeBook210). At the end of "Dead Man Talking" Kate Todd screws up big time. Read on. Let Gibbs and Kate tell you why.

**Spoilers: **"Dead Man Talking". Anything in _italics_ is dialog from the ep.

**Gibbs (To DiNozzo): **_"She's a He, bonehead."_

**Kate's POV:**

Special Agent Kate Todd was nervous and embarrassed. She had committed the cardinal sin of law enforcement. She had failed to back up her partner, Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

She and Gibbs had made a high speed run to the bar where Tony, backed up by McGee was with Amanda/Voss.

When they walked in the bar a first class brawl was in progress. Out of the scrum Amanda/Voss emerged. She/he was moving quickly, holding a .357 revolver muzzle down at her/his side.

Gibbs drew down on her pointing his SIG one handed between her eyes. The muzzle was barely an inch away. Gibbs murmured something Kate couldn't catch. Voss started to raise the revolver and Gibbs fired one round killing her/him.

It was only after hollering out that they were Federal Agents and asking Gibbs why Voss had tried to shoot that Kate came to several realizations: a) she had just stood there, behind Gibbs like some civilian b) she hadn't even drawn her SIG and c) Gibbs was mightily pissed.

After both agents had given statements to DC Metro PD, Gibbs drove them back to the Navy Yard. On the ride Gibbs never said a word. Neither did Kate.

They entered the NCIS building. Got on the elevator. Halfway up, Gibbs reached out and flicked the emergency stop switch. Office hours.

"Oh, Shit" thought Kate…

**Gibbs' POV:**

On entering the bar Gibbs was greeted with the sight of a full on bar brawl. Suddenly out of the chaos stepped Amanda/ Voss. She had a revolver held low at her side. The SIG was in Gibbs' hand without conscious thought. He pointed it one handed between her eyes.

Something Mike Franks told him years ago flashed through his mind, "Probie, once a woman points a weapon at you, or tries to smack you, she ceases to enjoy the considerations a woman would normally get. Kick her ass."

Over the front sight of the SIG Gibbs stared deeply into Amanda/Voss' eyes and murmured, _"His name was Special Agent Chris Pacci, he was a friend."_

In the eternity that probably lasted only a second or two, Gibbs again saw Chris shot in the neck and gutted like a new killed deer on the floor of the elevator. Rage against Voss and himself filled him and made it to his eyes.

Amanda's eyes widened slightly and she started to lift the revolver. The SIG went off dropping her. Gibbs heard Kate holler out they were Federal Agents. Kate looked back at him and said in a semi-shocked voice, _"He didn't have a chance, why'd he try."_

Gibbs had been aware that Kate had stood behind him the entire time her SIG in its holster like some spectator. "Have to have office hours when we get back to the Yard" thought Gibbs.

The ride back to NCIS was made in silence. Once in the building and on the elevator, the emergency stop switch was flipped.

"Kate" Gibbs said "I'm gonna talk, you're gonna listen. I don't know what happened back at the bar. Judging from the look on your face afterward neither do you. What I do know is it can't happen again. If Voss had gotten lucky and killed me, he probably would have killed you too. This is staying here with the two of us. Don't ever do that again. Somebody might die.

Gibbs hit the switch and the elevator completed its journey in silence.

**A/N:** I can't figure out why the writers had an experienced Federal Agent freeze up like that. If you watch the last 8 minutes of the ep maybe you dear readers can explain it to me. Mike Franks advice was given to me by my older partner after I tried to "gently" arrest a female shop lifter. I got kicked in the chest with a stiletto heeled shoe for my gallantry. If I hadn't been wearing soft body armor the ER doc said I'd have had a nice pneumothorax (punctured lung). As it was I had a foot shaped bruise on my chest for about 10 days. McGee will be next


	3. Two and a Half Pounds of Pressure

**Disclaimer: They all belong to DPB and CBS. Not me.**

**Author's Note: **I had a tough time with this one and I'm not sure I got it quite right. I noticed that McGee was left handed finally. I'm left handed for Chrissake how did I miss that! I also noticed he never really ever got any 'therapy in Gibbs basement. Now I notice I'm babbling. Shutting up. Any way here's the third installment. I really want reviews on this one 'cause it just didn't feel right. Anything in _italics_ is from the ep.

**Spoilers: **"Witness"

**Gibbs: **_"Any more food fights in here, I'm joining in, with peas." _** Kate: **_"Frozen peas?"_** Gibbs: **_"Nope, in the can."_

**Georgetown Street**

**McGee's POV:**

Special Agent Tim McGee was two and a half pounds of pressure from killing Jeremy Pryor. Pryor is the manager of the building where PO Dillon was murdered. He's also probably the murderer of Dillon and Erin Kendall.

When confronted Pryor bolted with McGee fueled by adrenaline and anger close behind. As they hit the street, McGee thought about taking a shot. Too many cars and pedestrians in the background.

They both ran across the busy street dodging cars. Pryor's luck ran out. He was hit by a mini-van and ended up flat on his back in the street.

Now McGee's knee was on his chest. McGee's SIG pointed at his face. "He killed **Erin.**" ran thru his mind, "He has to die."

All the slack in the trigger of the SIG had been taken up. McGee's boyish face hardened. The logical part of McGee's brain noticed that everything had narrowed down to just Pryor in his field of vision. There was really no noise either. "Kill Him" his brain screamed…

"**MCGEE!!**...If you're gonna shoot him you shoulda done it _**while**_ he was running." His Boss's voice cut thru the silence. Suddenly the volume was back on and McGee was aware of the woman in the car next to him, staring.

Tim eased off the trigger, still covering Pryor and let Gibbs cuff him.

Much later after the reports were finished and submitted Tim wrote the note to Mr. and Mrs. Kendall. He left the building. He drove over to Abby's, but just sat in his car. He left and drove around DC. Finally coming to rest in front of the Boss's house.

Tony always said Gibbs never locked his front door. Tim got out of his car. "Guess I'm going to find out…"

**Gibbs' Basement**

**Gibbs POV:**

Gibbs had been working steadily for a couple of hours. The boat was coming along nicely. While he was working he had been going over the Dillon case. Gibbs was proud of McGee. He had taken a vague set of circumstances and made a case. McGee followed his instincts, his "gut". He had taken the first real steps to becoming an investigator. It had been a test. McGee passed.

Then it had all turned to shit. Erin Kendall was killed. Tim McGee had made a rookie mistake and all the progress was going down the tubes. The team rallied though. With the help of a hypnotized McGee they had bagged Pryor.

Pryor, now there was a lucky guy. Even though Gibbs was sure of his junior agent, it was a good thing Gibbs hadn't been a few seconds later. The hammer on McGee's SIG had been as far back as it could go.

The look on McGee's face had been familiar to Gibbs. He was certain it was the same look he'd had on his own face right before he dropped the hammer on the drug dealer in Mexico. The one who'd killed Shannon and Kelly.

Now he was waiting for McGee. Tim would be here eventually. He wouldn't go to DiNozzo or Kate. Abby maybe, but she'd called worried when McGee left the building and didn't show up at her place.

The front door opened upstairs. The floorboards creaked. Gibbs kept working. He heard the creak from the board at the top of the landing.

"Ya gonna stand up there all night, McGee?" Tim came down the steps. "Boss I really need to talk…"

**A/N: ** Tunnel vision and auditory exclusion are not uncommon in armed confrontations. The body goes into "fight or flight" mode. Time slows, or speeds up. It's wild.

Well, that's the third chapter. I'm stuck for more. How 'bout helpin' a brother out? Ideas welcome. Oh yeah, please hit the green button on this one. I need the feedback.


	4. The Wow Finish

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bogey, Mark Harmon et al. They just invade my brain, stay awhile and leave.**

**Authors Note: The Mysterious Red Head came on the scene in the first season and then disappeared without explanation in season two. Here's my explanation. Takes place about three months after the end of "Boxers vs. Briefs".**

_**Ilsa:**__ "I didn't count the days."__** Rick:**__ "Well, I did. Every one of 'em. Mostly I remember the last one. The wow finish. A guy standing on a station platform in the rain with a comical look on his face because his insides have been kicked out."- _Casablanca

**MCRT Bullpen, Monday 0915 hrs**

Start of the work week. Senior Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs was going over his agent's reports. Rather he was reading the same report again. "Snap out of it Leroy" he thought to himself. "There's no doubt a good reason she didn't call." The she in question was Jane Bradford. Or as she was known to Special Agents Todd and DiNozzo, "The Mysterious Red Head".

Gibbs had met her about 18 months ago at the Chesapeake Yacht Club. He was admiring the sailboats. She had been trying to find one. Her friends had invited her for a sail. With Gibbs' help Jane had located her friend's boat. Impulsively, Jane had invited Gibbs along. Not caring if a fix up may have been in progress. Luckily it hadn't been.

After that first date they had kept the relationship loose. Jane was separated from her husband. They were trying to reconnect but it wasn't working out. She was fun to be with, was not fazed by his job and didn't mind just sitting around watching him work on his boat. He got her a DoD sticker from the Navy Yard pass office. That and "I'm picking up NCIS Special Agent Gibbs." Got her aboard most government installations.

This past Friday they had made vague plans to get together. Jane called his cell late Friday morning telling him she might not be able to make it. That's where they had left it.

Now, his "gut" was starting to send out its usual signals. Gibbs stopped trying to read. He looked around the bullpen. Kate was down with Abby, picking up some type of report. DiNozzo was….where was Tony? Of course, he was over by the copier talking to the new female Probie from Agent Crawford's team.

As he was about to holler for DiNozzo, his desk phone rang. Outside line. "Special Agent Gibbs".

"Hi Boss, it's Steve Mitchell" Mitchell had been a Gibbs Probie who had moved over to the US Marshall Service. "What can I do for ya Steve?" "Can I meet you, Boss?" "Sure, come on over to the Yard" said Gibbs. "This is kinda personal Boss" Gibbs sighed. "OK, where?" "The Wall, 20 minutes" said Mitchell. Gibbs hung up the phone. "DINOZZO!!...

**The Vietnam Veteran's Memorial, Monday 0940 hrs**

Gibbs saw Mitchell standing at the far end of the Memorial. Something in Steve's tone when he had set the meet had caused Gibbs to watch his mirrors on the way over. He hadn't been followed.

He walked up to Mitchell. "You're looking good Steve." "You too, Boss."

"OK kid, dancing's over. What's going on?" Gibbs said.

"You know Jane Bradford." It was a statement, not a question. Gibbs felt a lurch in his chest. "Yes".

"She went into the Witness Protection Program on Saturday" said Mitchell. "Her husband was CPAing for Jimmy Napolitano. The FBI got him to roll on Jimmy." Gibbs face remained impassive. Mitchell continued. "The Feebies convinced Jane to go into the program with her husband. She wrote you this."

Steve handed Gibbs an envelope with Jane's loopy writing on the front. "_Gibbs_". "I'm awful sorry about this Boss." "You draw the short straw, Steve?" said Gibbs. "Nah, Boss. I'm not in WPP. They ran everybody in the Washington Field Office. I was the only one who knew ya. The guys from WPP wanted nothing to do with this."

Gibbs extended his hand. "Thanks, Steve." "No problem, Boss. I'll be seeing you." As Mitchell walked away, he saw Gibbs open the letter.

**Gibbs' Basement, Monday 1825 hrs**

Gibbs stared at the boat. He was sitting on an old barstool, dressed in jeans and an old "NIS" t-shirt. After returning from the Wall, Gibbs got the Director to send the team home. Gibbs went too. When he got to his house, he did chores upstairs. He was avoiding his usual sanctuary because once he went down there and started work, it would mean Jane was truly gone.

He had been sitting here quite awhile. "Hell, Leroy get a grip. She's gone. The damn boat ain't gonna build herself." He picked up the plane and started to work. The front door opened. Gibbs looked up. Floorboards creaked in the hallway. Didn't sound like anyone he knew. Gibbs drifted to one side of his workbench. He slid his hand under the bench. It came up with a Charter Arms .44 Special snub-nosed revolver. He pointed it at the basement door.

A voice called out, "Don't shoot me Boss." It was Mitchell. Gibbs lowered the pistol as Steve came thru the doorway. Steve held up a bottle. "Single barrel Jack Daniels. If I'm forced to drink swill at least it's good stuff." Gibbs slid the pistol out of sight and grabbed two sawdust covered jars.

"Still First Class all the way I see" said Mitchell. Gibbs wiped out both jars. He filled them with a generous portion of bourbon.

"Absent friends," said Gibbs. "Absent friends," replied Mitchell. Gibbs picked up the plane and handed Steve a sanding block. "You still remember how to do this Probie?" "Sure Boss, it's just like riding a bicycle…."

**A/N: **OK guys, how about some reviews. Only six so far. Show me the love, please?


	5. Guidelines

**Disclaimer: Honest Don, they came in here jumped in my sandbox and now they won't leave. I tried to tell 'em but they just won't listen! Please don't sue me.**

**Spoilers: Twilight, Kill Ari I & II**

**Author's Note: **I know, I know I said Ziva was next; well Abby jumped my muse, locked it in a hug and won't let go until I finish this. The other day I was thinking about the first time I watched NCIS. It was a marathon on USA. I watched Twilight and Kill Ari I & II. Man, I wanted that SOB Ari dead. I got my wish. Only one problem. In RL the whole Ziva shot Ari-Gibbs takes credit and is believed wouldn't fly. I won't bore you here with why. If you really want me to lay it out PM me. Having said that, here's how it could have been done. Stuff in _italics_ is from the ep. After all, Forensics don't lie….do they?

**Gibbs Rule 4: ** If you have a secret, the best thing is to keep it to yourself. The second best is tell one other person if you must. There is no third best. (Blowback)

**Barbossa: "…..**the code is more what you'd call guidelines than actual rules."- Pirates of the Caribbean

**Gibbs Basement, the night before Kate's funeral**

Senior Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs looked at his watch. The team plus the new Director should be airborne by now on their way to Kate's funeral. The funeral was scheduled to start at 1000 hrs tomorrow.

"So you're okay with this?" Gibbs asked.

"Fine by me Jeth. A dead Tango's a dead Tango. I don't care who claims him." said Senior Special Agent William "Billy Goat" Crawford.

Crawford's team was called to the scene to investigate the killing of Ari Haswari. DC Metro PD had been on scene, but was told it was a "national security" matter. They left.

Per Gibbs request, Crawford had done the shoot and sketch himself. The other members of the team had done the evidence collection and interviews.

Gibbs had explained the situation to Crawford, leaving nothing out. Then he had told Crawford what he intended to do. Crawford did another shoot and sketch. He also wrote up another set of interviews.

"You know we could lose our jobs and/or go to prison behind this." said Gibbs. Crawford grinned.

"Hell, Gibbs, I was looking for a job when I found this one." "Billy Goat" Crawford was a former Navy SEAL, who like Gibbs came to NCIS when a medical condition forced him to leave active duty.

"Besides, I'm a big boy. I know what I'm getting into."

"OK" said Gibbs. "I squared it with the Director before she left. The reports won't be due until the day after tomorrow. That's when Ducky will do the post. I'll call you and let you know which set of reports we're gonna use."

**St. Michael the Archangel RC Cemetery, Peru, Indiana 1130hrs**

**Kate** (looking up from her coffin)**: **"_You're late for my funeral, Gibbs_"

**Gibbs** (with _that look_ on his face)**:** "_Sorry, Kate_"

**SecNav's Aircraft, Somewhere over Ohio, 1520 hrs**

From his seat in the front of the cabin, Gibbs surveyed his team. Abby, McGee and Tony were asleep, leaning on each other. They were emotionally and physically exhausted. Ducky was staring out of the window. Jenny, er, Director Sheppard was working on her laptop, reading glasses perched on the end of her nose.

Gibbs was stalling. Once he talked to Ducky, everything would be in motion. Rule 4 would be blown to hell. If DiNozzo ever did what Gibbs was going to do, it would take a day for his eyeballs to retract back into their sockets from the head slap. Gibbs had already head slapped himself in the privacy of the starboard head.

Gibbs knew Ducky would be on board. The Scotsman had hated Ari almost as much as Gibbs.

"Well, no time like the present "thought Gibbs.

He stood, walked over and dropped into the seat next to Dr. Mallard.

"How's it going, Duck. I've got something to ask you…."

**Main Forensics Lab, NCIS HQ, 0840 hrs, the day after Kate's funeral**

Chief Forensic Scientist Abby Scuito was puzzled. Not "where did I leave my car keys" puzzled. More like "this official report of the shooting death of a terrorist makes no sense" puzzled.

Firstly, none of the reports were in the database yet. All she had were the paper copies.

Secondly, Ducky hadn't finished his autopsy of Ari Haswari yet. Even though he'd been at work for hours.

But the piece de resistance of her puzzlement was the bullet trajectory sketch. According to it, Gibbs had been standing in the doorway that leads down to his basement when he fired the killshot. That totally contradicted the statement he gave. That said he had been sitting down with his back to the stairs when he fired. Totally contradictory. Something was very hinky.

The elevator dinged behind her. She turned just in time to see Gibbs stride into the lab bearing a Caf-Pow.

"Bossman, something is very hinky with this shooting." said Abby.

As soon as he put the Caf-Pow down, Gibbs started signing.

'_When was the last time you swept the lab?_'

'_McGee did it three days ago'_ she signed back.

"Okay, Abs, here's the story" said Gibbs.

When he reached the part where Ziva shoots Ari, Abby's eyes widen. "No Way". Gibbs shoots her "that look". She raises her hands defensively and says "I believe, I believe."

Finally Gibbs gives her the bottom line.

"The second set of photos, sketches and interviews will go into the database, Ducky's autopsy confirming the bullet trajectory too. The only thing left is your signature on the final forensic report. That clinches the whole thing."

Gibbs raises a hand.

"Before you say anything, I want you to know that if you don't want to do this, the case goes down normally and nobody will be the wiser. If something goes wrong, we're all looking for other employment, if not prison time."

Abby sticks out her chin, "I'm in Gibbs."

"That's my girl." says Gibbs, kissing Abby's forehead.

"I still don't like her." Abby said.

"Try" said Gibbs, as he walks out of the lab to make the calls that would start the dance.

**A/N: **SSA Crawford is an OC I came up with. He may reappear he may not. He had to start somewhere. Here seemed a good spot. The line about jobs was told to me by a friend who was an ironworker. Hit the green button please


	6. The Warmth of the Sun

**Disclaimer: DPB owns it all. But it would sure make a dandy Christmas present.**

**Author's Note:** This story barged into my head after I got several suggestions after my last Mike story. It also stems from the story request **M E Wofford **made that resulted in "Tea & No Sympathy". I think _this _story is more what she had in mind. **BAMACRUSH** was curious about lemongrass tea, so that's here too. You may be wondering why I made this a chapter in "You Can See a Lot Just by Observing". Well, I always wondered why Gibbs was the only one who ever went down to Mexico to see Mike. Also, I needed an "Observing" story for Ziva. And I wanted to give my loyal Mike readers a Christmas present. So ya see I did a bit of holiday multi-tasking. Hope ya'll like it. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

**Spoilers:** Season 7, end of Season 6, **Iceman **and **Dagger**. The writers named Mike's granddaughter and daughter in law in "Outlaws and In-laws". The names in this story are the ones I came up with before that. I was here first so I'm using mine. Lemongrass tea is mentioned in Judgment Day 2 and my story "Tea & No Sympathy" in "El Viejo."

**Carlos' Cantina, Baja Mexico December 27, 2009 1745hrs**

Happy Hour was in full swing. Carlos' was a local's bar. Its main clientele consisted mostly of ex-pat Americans. The occasional turista would wander in, mostly by accident.

Mike Franks sat at the bar drinking Corona. He felt someone come up and stand behind him. As the door to the bar opened, the change in air pressure brought the scent of sandalwood to Mike's nose.

"You gonna stand back there all day _Agent_ David? You're making me nervous."

There was a sharp intake of breath and Ziva David slid onto the barstool next to Franks.

"JOSE, bring the lady a mojito."

The bartender nodded and started making the drink.

"I thought only Gibbs could do that."

"Who do you think taught the Probie, _Probie_."

Ziva laughed.

"Touché"

Ziva's drink arrived and the first round was consumed in silence. When the second round arrived, Ziva reached into her pocket.

"If that hand comes out with money in it, I'll break your fingers."

Deciding she didn't want to test the validity of the challenge, Ziva's hand came up empty.

"You haven't asked why I'm here."

"Figured you'd tell me sooner or later."

"Franks…"

Mike held up his hand.

"Make you a deal. You stop calling me 'Franks' and call me Mike and I'll try not to call you 'Probie'. Okay?"

Ziva smiled.

_Takes about ten years off her when she does that. And it actually reached her eyes._

"Fr..Mike, I used to go back hom..to Israel this time of year. For obvious reasons I can't do that anymore. I wanted to get away from the cold. But I didn't want to go someplace where strangers could see my.."

She trailed off and Mike knew she was talking about the various scars she had on her back, legs and arms.

"So you decided to come to Mexico?"

"Gibbs said you wouldn't mind. He said you'd get a boot out of having a Probie around again."

"It's 'kick out of', Ziva"

"What?"

"Never mind. Sure, I've got plenty of room. After Amaya and Hope arrived, I had an addition built onto the house. They're with Camilla at Camilla's Mom's. Be back January 2nd.

"Thank you, Mike."

"De nada. HEY JOSE! I need a bottle of rum. Put it on my tab."

"Si', Senor Mike."

The bartender brought the bottle. Mike and Ziva finished their drinks and walked out to Mike's pickup.

"Anything breakable in here?"

Mike was holding Ziva's carryon.

"No"

Mike tossed the bag into the bed. They got into the truck and headed for Cabo Suerte. After twenty minutes of silence, Mike figured he was going to have to be the one to speak first.

"So what else is on your mind Probie."

"I thought you said…"

"I said I'd try. Don't change the subject."

Ziva grimaced.

"Remember when you told me surviving was the easy part?"

Mike nodded.

"Well you were right. Everyone is being very helpful and supporting. Except Tony has been kind of snakey…"

"Snarky" said Mike automatically.

Ziva rolled her eyes.

"Snarky. Anyway I needed to get away. Away to someplace _warm_."

"Well, you came to the right place. Here we are."

Franks turned the pickup into his driveway and stopped alongside the house.

"It's beautiful."

"Yeah, the view's great, ain't it. Come on."

Mike led her into the house.

"Guest bedroom is down the hall, second door on the right. Bathroom's the first. Stow your stuff. Are ya hungry?"

"I could eat."

"Great, I've got some yellow fin tuna marinating in teriyaki sauce. How about grilled tuna?"

"Yes, please."

"Okay, why don't you take a shower and I'll get dinner started."

Ziva went off to the guest room and Mike went onto the deck to uncover and start the gas grill. Fifteen minutes later Ziva came out to the grill. She was wearing a tube top and shorts. Numerous scars showed on her arms, back, shoulders and legs.

Mike knew a test when he saw one. Years of never letting suspects see what he was thinking by facial expression came into play.

_Good thing Probie shot that bastard dead. I'm tempted to find his grave, dig him up and kill him all over again._

"Find everything ok in the bathroom?"

"Yes. That smells very good."

"Why don't you get the dishes and such and we'll eat outside."

"All right."

Ziva had been watching his expression carefully. She detected no signs of pity. She nodded and went in search of the dishes. After dinner they sat drinking beer as the sun disappeared. Ziva suddenly started.

"I have something for you. I almost forgot."

Ziva went into the house and came out a few minutes later with a small bag and handed it to Mike.

"I'll be damned. Lemongrass tea. Thank you."

"It was not easy to find."

"I know. Thanks again."

"Toda."

"Since you went to all the trouble of finding the tea, I guess I owe you an explanation as to why I drink it."

Ziva smiled and settled back in her chair. Mike lit a cigarette and started in.

"I was up in San Francisco in '81 or '82 workin' a case when I first met my ex. She was a social worker. Her agency had to take custody of the suspect's kids. One thing led to another as these things will. We spent a night together and in the morning instead of coffee she made lemongrass tea. The smell was what hooked me. It was lemony and orangey sort of. It wasn't bitter tasting. We parted and then reconnected a few years later."

Mike got a faraway look in his eyes.

"We got married. She couldn't handle the violence, long hours and uncertainty."

"And Liam?"

"Well she got pregnant, didn't tell me, left. Filed for divorce. Never let on about the boy."

Ziva yawned.

"Sorry"

"No offense taken. Why don't ya get some sleep. You've had a long day."

"I think I will. Thank you for the meal and everything."

Mike smiled.

"G'night Ziva."

After the woman went inside, Mike stayed on the deck drinking. Ziva reminded him a lot of Gibbs, when he'd first started working with Mike. She'd opened up a little. But Mike was certain there was more to be revealed.

**The next day, Mike's house 1000hrs**

Mike Franks was in his kitchen making up a grocery list. He'd heard the shower about fifteen minutes earlier so he'd made tea for Ziva. As she came into the kitchen he rose and poured two mugs of tea.

"Don't have any Earl Grey. Gotta go shopping."

Ziva sniffed her mug of tea.

"It does smell very good."

"Careful, it grows on ya. So what are you going to do today?"

"Well, I brought several books and plenty of sunscreen. I am going to go lay on the beach."

"Okay. I'll make this grub run and be back. Almost forgot, here."

Mike reached into his pants pocket and came out with a balisong knife. He tossed it to Ziva. She snatched it out of mid air and flipped it open and then closed. She raised an eyebrow.

"Since you had to leave your tanto home, I thought you might be feeling under dressed."

Ziva chuckled and made the knife disappear.

An hour and a half later Mike was back. He'd picked up groceries and made a phone call. After putting the food away, Mike changed into shorts and hit the beach. Ziva was on a beach blanket reading. She was wearing a one piece suit. Mike had seen the infamous "bikini pictures", so he wasn't surprised by the one piece. He unfolded his beach chair and handed Ziva one of the two beers he brought.

"Thank you, Mike."

"Figured you might be thirsty."

"Could you put some sunscreen on my back? I couldn't reach all the way."

_Another test_

"Sure kiddo. Stand up."

Ziva stood and Mike took the proffered tube of sunscreen and went to rub some into Ziva's back.

_Whoever worked her over used a cat o' nine tails._

"They used a 'cat' I see."

Ziva flinched.

"Yes"

"Back in the 1800's when the British Navy used flogging as punishment, the 'cat' was kept in a red baize bag. It was only taken out on punishment days. That's where the phrase 'the cat's out of the bag' comes from."

Ziva chuckled darkly

"Tony has used that phrase."

"Well, now you can surprise him by knowing what it means."

"I think I would have preferred to remain in ignorance."

Now it was Mike's turn to chuckle

"Amen to that."

"My plastic surgeon says as long as there is no further injury done, the scars will fade."

"Does the team know how much you got worked over?"

"Ducky does. Gibbs too. Tony, Tim and Abby, no."

"You should tell'em you know."

"Yes, but I…."

"..don't want pity."

"Yes"

"How about sympathy?"

"What?"

"It wouldn't be pity, it would be sympathy. It'll probably help them as much as you."

Ziva grimaced.

"Logically I know all this. I just can't seem to tell them."

"Then don't tell'em. Show'em. This coming summer organize a beach party. Let'em

_see_. If you hide yourself away, they'll just use their imagination. Which is probably worse than the reality."

"I think I will go for a walk."

Franks grabbed her by the upper arm. Ziva flinched slightly.

"Just consider it, okay?"

**Mike's house, January 1, 2010 0900hrs**

_In Vino Veritas._ Mike chuckled to himself. _Maybe I should change it to In Jameson's Veritas._

Up until the 31st Mike had been chipping away at Ziva's reserve. By the 31st he hadn't made any real headway. When Amaya and Hope came back on the 2nd, Mike's window of opportunity would slam shut. Franks had broached the idea of going to the Cantina's New Year's Eve party. Ziva had demurred. So after dinner Mike had brought forth a bottle of Jameson's Irish Whiskey. He explained to Ziva it was one of his traditions to drink nothing but Jameson's on New Year's Eve.

Pre-Somalia Ziva probably wouldn't have gone for that load of hooey for a minute. The new Ziva just smiled and said it couldn't be any worse than the bourbon Gibbs drank. So they stepped into it. At least Ziva did. Mike used the old detective's trick of appearing to swallow while not doing so. He'd taught the same trick to Gibbs.

As the whiskey took effect, Ziva loosened up. By the time the bottle was three quarters done, the dam finally broke and it all came pouring out.

Her father, Rivkin, Tony, Somalia, Tony, coming back to DC, Tony, becoming an NCIS agent and an American citizen, leaving Israel behind, Tony, working with her family again, lying to the girl about never killing anyone, Tony, Christmas, _Tony._ By the end she was sitting in Mike's lap crying like she would never stop.

Ziva finally passed out. Mike carried her to her room. He left two bottles of water and a handful of aspirin on the nightstand. Next to the bed he left a bucket.

Mike was now sitting in the kitchen, waiting. When Ziva woke up she was going to be hung over and more than likely very pissed. He had no doubt she'd remember everything she'd said. In all probability she'd never ever opened herself up like that to anyone.

"If I was a licensed shrink, I'd probably lose my ticket for what I did last night." Mike said aloud

A voice came from the doorway.

"You probably would…but thank you."

**A/N:** There you have it folks. Good? Bad? OOC? Let me know what you think. It's Christmas time after all. How 'bout a sack full of reviews? Smack that green button.


	7. Fourth Point of Contact

**Disclaimer: Since I'm not DPB or Don McGill, you should know it's not mine.**

**Author's Note: **I'm supposed to be working on **5Snowflakes** story. It's not going well. So to distract myself, I was watching USA Network. Bad move. They were doing episodes from Seasons 1 & 2. "Hung Out to Dry" came on. Haven't you ever wondered what happened to Tony between the time he fell out the jump door and he and Gibbs were back in the bullpen? Well, here's my take on that.

**Spoilers: **Ya Think?

**Technical Notes: **Wouldn't be one of my stories without some.

**Fort A P Hill- **Located approximately 90 minutes from Washington DC. Run by the US Army, Fort A P Hill is used by all branches of the military for training from small units to up to brigade size. At 76,000 acres there is plenty of room.

**NAS Oceana- **Naval Air Station Oceana is located in Virginia Beach, Virginia.

**Jump Wings- **Another term for the US Army's Basic Parachutist's Badge. Also called "Lead Wings" by Marine and Naval personnel who are Airborne qualified. The Navy/Marine Corps Parachutist's Badge is gold. To qualify for your lead wings you need five jumps, one of which has to be at night. To get your Navy/Marine Corps wings you need five more jumps, one of which has to be into water.

**PLF- **Parachute Landing Fall. The end of a successful parachute drop. Upon landing the shock is taken up along the five points of contact: 1)balls of the feet 2)side of calf 3)side of thigh 4)side of hip(buttocks) 5)side of back. In paratrooper slang, having "your head up your fourth point of contact" means…well, I think you can figure that out.

**AGL- **Above Ground Level. The actual distance between you and the ground.

**800 ft AGL, Fort A P Hill, Virginia**

_It sure is quiet up here._

Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo was floating under a fully deployed canopy(Thank God). Below him was the DZ(Drop Zone) at Fort A P Hill. There were strobes on each corner and headlights of the support vehicles. Tony hadn't really expected to be up here. He and Gibbs had joined the Marines in the jump aircraft at NAS Oceana to confront Cpl. Dafelmair about the death of Sgt. Fuentes. After Gibbs cut Dafelmair's static line and Dafelmair realized his reserve chute was no good, he confessed. This set off a scuffle that caused Tony to stand in front of the jump door. During the attempt to cuff Dafelmair somebody had shoved DiNozzo sending him out the door.

Tony automatically assumed the proper exit position and four seconds later the static line yanked his chute free. The opening shock was everything the advanced billing had said it would be. Now Tony was floating peacefully towards Mother Earth.

The blare of a voice over a bull horn broke Tony's reverie.

"YOU'RE 'BICYCLING' AGENT DINOZZO."

Tony looked down. Sure enough, he was unconsciously reaching for the ground with each foot in turn. He stopped. He also figured the pilot had contacted the DZ, letting them know he was the only one in the air tonight.

DiNozzo knew he only had a short time to set himself for his landing. Using the vehicle headlights for a reference, Tony got ready to land. He went over the PLF in his head. Good to go.

As he neared the ground, the wind shifted, causing the front of the canopy to spill air. Instead of hitting feet first, Tony slammed sideways into the ground.

_That's gonna leave a mark._

Knowing he had to control the chute, DiNozzo popped right up. He had to collapse the canopy or it would drag him across the DZ adding more injury to his already beat up torso. As he struggled with the chute, he heard a voice coming from behind.

"That was one of the worst landings I've seen in a long time, Agent DiNozzo."

Tony looked over his shoulder. Standing there was a Marine Captain.

"I thought any landing you walked away from was a good landing, Captain."

"That's airplanes DiNozzo. Besides, judging by the limp, walking may be a problem."

"I'm fine."

The captain laughed.

"Special Agent Gibbs said you'd say that if you managed to land fucked up."

Tony grimaced. The Boss knew him so well. DiNozzo got the chute collapsed and gathered up. As he took his first steps, he staggered and groaned involuntarily.

"Soon as you get out of your harness, it's off to the dispensary for you, young man."

"But, Captain…"

"No 'buts' Agent DiNozzo. Dispensary."

Tony opened then closed his mouth, catching sight of 'the look' the Marine was giving him.

_Must be standard issue_

"Yes Sir."

"Agent Gibbs will be back to get you once he gets the Corporal booked into the brig at Oceana. He told me you don't like hospitals, but that you'd better go or he'd head slap you into next week."

Truth be told, Tony's side was giving him hell. He didn't think anything was broken, but he felt like he'd been hit by a truck.

Two hours later Tony was standing in the waiting room of the dispensary. Nothing was broken, but he had a spectacular bruise running from his waist to just above his knee. He had tried sitting but that hadn't felt too great. The ride back to the Yard should be interesting.

**The next day, Tony's apartment, 1300hrs.**

Anthony DiNozzo was lying on his couch. After finishing his paperwork last night, he'd managed to drive himself home. This morning Abby had come over making a big fuss over him. She'd been followed by Ducky, who'd poked and prodded him making sure he was okay. Kate had just left after making him lunch. That had been a surprise. He'd given Kate a pretty hard time at the beginning of the case. But she came and listened to his account of the evening, rolling her eyes at some of the blatantly self praising parts.

Now Tony was bored. He'd have to get up if he wanted to watch a movie. There was nothing loaded in his entertainment system. As DiNozzo contemplated whether the pain was worth the effort there was a knock.

"It's open. Come on in."

Senior Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs walked into the apartment. He was wearing jeans, a Marine Corps sweatshirt and a smirk.

"How're ya doing, DiNozzo?"

"Sore as hell, Boss."

Gibbs' eyebrows arched. His Senior Field Agent never admitted to being hurt.

"Ducky check you over?"

"Yeah, he did. Even told me to take my pain meds. But you know they make me loopy."

Gibbs grinned. DiNozzo on pain medication was a sight.

"So what brings you to my humble abode Boss?"

Gibbs walked over to the couch and dropped a small box on Tony's chest.

"Get well present for ya."

Tony opened the box. Nestled in cotton was a pair of Navy/Marine Corps jump wings.

"Captain Masters says that you still owe him four jumps. But, you can heal up first."

"Hey, thanks Boss."

Gibbs walked back to the door.

"Rest up. I expect you in work, on time, on Monday."

Tony's smile was a mile wide.

"On it, Boss."

**A/N:** I'm hoping by doing this story, I get my muse back on track for **5Snowflakes'** story. It isn't coming as easily as I thought it would. I threw this one out without a read over by my muse's assistant. Hit that green button below and let me know how I did. How 'bout those Jets.


	8. Driving Miss Jenny

**Disclaimer: NCIS and all the junk that goes with it is owned by people other than me. The only thing that I own is the voice in my head that shoves these stories out of my pen.**

**Authors Note: **I'm not really thrilled with where the writers have gone this season. So I've been doing stories from back in the day. For this story I have again, courtesy of **elflordsmistress**, used the timeline from her story "Sub Rosa". If you have _any_ interest in the back story of Gibbs and Jenny you need to read her story. It's great. Did you ever wonder what Mike Franks and Jenny talked about on their way to Decker's diner? _No_? Well, have no fear, I did. So here's my take on it.

**Spoilers: **Judgment Day, Hiatus.

"_Man drives, but the Creator holds the reins."_**- Jewish Proverb**

**Prologue**

**Carlos' Cantina April 18, 1999 1740hrs**

It was a slow Sunday night and Mike Franks watched the bartender pouring a drink for a customer down the bar. Since coming to Mexico three years ago Franks made Carlos' his home away from home. Part of the attraction was that the cantina was a hangout for expatriate Americans. Guys and gals like him, trying to stretch their pension dollars. The other part was the aforementioned bartender. Camilla Charro was a lively lady who so far had resisted Mike's charms. Since coming to work at the bar eight months ago, Camilla took Franks' best shots and had not caved. While she didn't _discourage_ Mike's attempts, she never really _encouraged _them either.

_Well, that's what makes life interestin'_

Mike pushed his empty Corona bottle towards the back edge of the bar. The movement attracted Camilla's attention and she sauntered down to his end of the bar.

"Another, Miguel?"

"You bet darlin'"

Camilla reached into the cold box and placed a fresh bottle of Corona in front of Mike.

"Lime?"

"Nah, not this time. Next one."  
"Okay. Have you heard from your friend up in el Norte' lately?"

"You mean Gibbs?"

"Si'"

"Naw. Last time he called, he was over in France or someplace, doin' something mysterious."

Mike frowned a little. He was not a big fan of covert operations. He thought the current trend by NCIS in that direction was not good for the agency. Mike understood that with the rise of terrorism it was inevitable those types of operations would occur. He still didn't have to like it though. From the guarded conversations between his former Probie, Leroy Jethro Gibbs and himself, Mike had gathered that Gibbs' team was involved in some type of James Bond shit.

_That kinda crap can come back to bite ya._

The door to the bar opened and Franks was surprised to see Gibbs step in, blinking from the change of bright light to semi-darkness. Once his eyes adjusted, Jethro gave Mike a half smile. As Gibbs came around the bar Mike noted the look on his face. It was the same one he wore the night he found out Nurse Ellie Foster took a job as head trauma nurse at a hospital in Phoenix, Arizona.

"Hey Boss."

"Pull up a stool Probie. Hey Camilla, Jim Beam, Black Label, neat."

As she started to pour his drink, Camilla shot Gibbs a welcoming smile. Two rounds later, Gibbs finally spoke.

"Now I know why you always told me to stay away from female agents."

Mike raised an eyebrow.

Gibbs proceeded to fill Franks in on his mission to Europe. Including his relationship with a female Special Agent. Jethro didn't mention any names and Mike didn't ask. Franks signaled Camilla for another round.

"Well, Probie not that I'd say 'I told ya so', but, '_I told ya so'_. Sounds like the young lady has big plans."

Gibbs looked glum.

"Apparently so."

Franks snorted.

"Snap out of it Probie. Last I looked you were a consenting adult. So was she. Things didn't work out. Time to move on. How much leave ya got?"

"Ten days before I'm due back."

"Well that means nine days of drinkin' and fishin'. Not to mention 'other' pursuits."

Mike grinned and raised and lowered his eyebrows rapidly.

"Okay, Boss. I get the message. "

Gibbs sighed.

"Still gonna miss her though."

**Mike's rental car Off I-40 between Los Angeles and Decker's diner**

The only sound in the car was the hum of the air conditioning and the voice of George Strait coming softly from the radio.

"_That picture from our honeymoon, That night in Frisco Bay: Just give it away…."_

Thoughts of his ex-wife flitted quickly through Mike Franks' mind. He glanced sideways at the other occupant of the car. NCIS Director Jennifer Shepard was staring out at the passing desert, seemingly lost in thought.

Since leaving William Decker's house for his diner, silence had reigned. Mike for his part was trying to figure how to extricate everybody involved without getting anybody killed. Bad guys excepted of course. He wasn't crazy about the current course of action. He knew by going to the diner it would pull their adversaries along. Hopefully they wouldn't bring more people than Mike and Jenny could handle.

"How can you listen to that drivel?"

"'Cause I'm a simple country boy from Louisiana. It's 'comfort music' for me."

Jenny snickered.

"'Simple country boy'. Right."

"Okay, maybe not so simple. Though, I did let you talk me into this."

"Once I mentioned Gibbs, you didn't hesitate."

Mike sighed.

"I'd be lyin' if I said I didn't have a soft spot for the Probie."

Jenny grinned.

"And if you tell him I said that, I'll kick your ass. Female or not."

"Okay. Your secret's safe."

Jenny hesitated.

"What was he like when he worked for you?"

Mike glanced her way, and then put his eyes back on the road.

"Gibbs was like any Probie. Didn't know his ass from a hole in the ground. Caught on quick though. He was a natural in 'the box'. First time I turned him loose, he had the guy talking in twenty minutes."

"Did he talk much about…his family?"

"No. At least not when he was sober. Couple of times when he was in his cups."

Mike knew that it had upset both Jenny and "Ducky" Mallard that Gibbs had not told them about Shannon and Kelly.

"Listen, the only reason Gibbs ever talked to me about it, is I already knew. He never opened up to anybody…eh, maybe one person."

Jenny arched a sculpted eyebrow.

"Who?"

"Ah, this nurse he was keepin' company with. It was his and Shannon's anniversary. I was stuck at the office. He got drunk and wound up at her place.

Jenny's voice got low.

"Was she nice?"

"Nurse Ellie? Yeah she was. Right before Jethro got transferred to DC permanently, she took a job as head trauma nurse at some hospital in Phoenix. The transfer came at a good time. He was not dealin' well."

Jenny grimaced shifting around in her seat.

"You okay?"

Jenny glared.

"I'm fine."

_Sure you are. Except I found your pills when I went thru your purse. I hope this ain't some kinda kamikaze mission you're on. I don't look good in a Rising Sun headband._

"Why the sudden interest? As I recall, _you _were the one that dropped _him_ like a bad habit."

The look that Jenny gave Mike could have turned a man to stone.

"Glare all ya want. Minus any names, I heard the whole story back in '99. Now it makes even more sense, in light of what I know."

"I possibly made a mistake back then."

"Ya think?"

Just then the diner came up on their left. Mike eased the car into the lot and pulled around back. As they exited the vehicle the hairs on the back of Mike's neck stood.

_I've got a bad feeling about this._

**A/N: **I had to change the summary. Ran out of room. So what do you think? Hit the new balloon thingee and let me know.


	9. Terry's Song

**Disclaimer: Not mine, yadda, yadda, NCIS, yadda, yadda, DPB, yadda, yadda. Also, Terry's Song is the property of Bruce Springsteen, wouldn't want the Boss on my case.**

**Authors Note: **I know I'm _supposed_ to be workin' on another Mike Franks story. But this one invaded my brain and banged around until I let it out. I heard 'Terry's Song' the otherday on the radio. Then I saw "Minimum Security "and "Grace Period" on USA. Combine all of that together, add the fact that Terry is the first name of my cousin who passed away in '08 and you have this story. I always thought that Tony and Paula Cassidy may have hooked up, but I never had a story hook to write about it. Now I do. This takes place after the team gets "the word" about Ziva, but before the mission to Somalia is a go. Kinda short, but it's to the point, I think.

**Spoiler's: **The aforementioned 'Minimum Security** '**and 'Grace Period'. Also the beginning of Season 7 I guess.

_**Now the world is filled with many wonders under the passing sun And sometimes something comes along and you know for sure it's the only one The Mona Lisa, the David, the Sistine Chapel, Jesus, Mary, and Joe And when they built you brother they broke the mold**_

**St. Thomas Cemetery 0645hrs**

He hadn't planned on stopping at the cemetery, but a song came on the radio that made him think of her. Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo ran his hand over the cool granite of the headstone.

_Miss me?_

_Like Herpes_

Tony chuckled. Paula Cassidy was one of the few women that he knew who held her own with him. Kate was another, but it was more a brother sister thing. And Ziva….well, that was now a moot point.

When Team Gibbs and Paula were flying back from Gitmo, it was Kate that prodded him to talk to Cassidy. After landing, Tony gave her a ride to the hotel NCIS put her up at until she could find her own place.

Working in the same building, their paths crossed. They had lunch a few times, ran into each other at Charlie's Bar a few blocks from the Yard, and even worked a case together. When Paula got her own team, Tony called her and asked her out to dinner. Tony smiled softly, still running his hand along the top of the headstone.

_I really expected her to shine me on, but she didn't….._

**Bullpen, NCIS HQ, the Navy Yard, 1112hrs**

Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo drummed his fingers on the telephone receiver.

_Just call her ya big baby._

Tony blew out a breath and picked up the receiver dialing the four digit extension.

"_Cassidy"_

"Hey Paula, its Tony DiNozzo."

"_What can I do for you __**Very Special Agent **__DiNozzo?"_

_Jeez, sarcastic much?_

"I just heard you got your own team. Congrats. Well deserved."

Paula's voice softened.

"Hey, thanks Tony. It was nice of you to call."

"Yeah, so….._."_

"_Whoa, slow down cowboy. What was that?"_

DiNozzo sighed.

"I said, How. About. We. Go. Out. To. Dinner. To. Celebrate?"

Paula laughed.

"_That's what I thought you said. Sure Tony, dinner would be great. Say six o'clock?"_

Tony smiled into the phone.

"Six o'clock it shall be. See you then, m'lady."

Luckily the crime gods decided to smile, so neither agent drew a case. At the appointed time Tony arrived at Paula's apartment to pick her up. She answered the door wearing the same dress she'd worn at the bar in Gitmo. Tony had to smile.

"What are you grinning at DiNozzo?"

"Nice dress, _Chica."_

"So you remember?"

"Of course. How could I forget such a magical evening?"

"You're so full of shit, DiNozzo. Let's go eat."

Tony took her to his favorite Italian restaurant, 'Aronne's', in Georgetown. Tony had the _acqua pazza_, Paula had the _fettuccine Carbonara._ During dinner all Tony thought about was the dress.

_Is she trying to send me a message? Only one way to find out._

"So whatta ya say to some dancing, since dinner is going so well."

Paula gave him a cheeky grin.

"Sure Tony."

After the check was paid, Tony led Paula to a small dance club down the street from the restaurant. After twenty minutes, they headed back to Paula's.

_Message received and understood._

**St Thomas Cemetery**

The sound of a backhoe grinding up the hill behind him snapped DiNozzo back to the present. After that night Tony and Paula saw each other a couple of more times. It was strictly a "no strings, no commitment" type thing. Tony considered trying to make it more, but then Director Shepard sicced him on the 'Frog's' daughter and that ended that. Tony blew out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

_You had to go and get blown up didn't ya._

Tony looked at his watch. Time to get to work. Today was the day he was going to pitch Vance and Gibbs about going after Salim Ulman.

_Wish me luck Paula._

_**Now your death is upon us and we'll return your ashes to the earth And I know you'll take comfort in knowing you've been roundly blessed and cursed But love is a power greater than death, just like the songs and stories told And when she built you brother, she broke the mold.**_

**A/N: **Bruce Springsteen wrote Terry's Song to honor his longtime friend and personal assistant Frank 'Terry' Magovern after his death. I put this story in "Observing" rather than making it a standalone 'cause I haven't updated 'Observing' in a while. Hope you enjoyed it. So now do your part and leave a review. And to the twenty five people who've put this story on their alert list, thanks very much (no extra charge for the guilt trip!).


	10. A Tale From Charlie's

**Disclaimer: It really does belong to me. I wish. Unfortunately it still is the property of DPB, et al. I'm still on the outside looking in.**

**Authors Note: **As often happens with my writing, a request from a reader in a review burrows into my subconscious. Then when I least expect it, it comes cranking out of my head. This story is the product of **alix33** asking if I knew of any stories involving "Charlie's Bar" and our favorite NCIS agents. Ya think? The idea of Charlie's came from watching "Collateral Damage". It's the bar where the memorial wall is. The bar is unnamed, so I named it and gave it a location, "two blocks from the Yard". I'm putting this story in "Observing" to gauge the reaction to it. If I get enough positive reaction, I _may_ start a series of stories set in Charlie's. That my dear readers will be up to you. Enjoy your ride.

**Spoilers: **This story takes place later on the same day as my story "Tea and No Sympathy". So I guess the beginning of Season 7, also a small one for "Judgment Day" By all means read "T&NS" to bring yourself up to speed.

**Charlie's Bar, Monday, 1900hrs**

Retired NCIS Special Agent Mike Franks pushed thru the double doors of Charlie's Bar. He was pissed and thirsty. Earlier in the day he'd picked up his carryon from the bartender and caught the Green Line Metro to head for Reagan National. He was going home to Mexico. Well, Mother Nature had other plans. There were severe storms in the Midwest. Flights were delayed, and then cancelled. After six hours of dealing with airline flunkies, Franks threw up his hands and decided to head back to Charlie's and go to Plan "B". While riding the Metro back to the Navy Yard stop, Mike pulled out his cell and called his former Probie, Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

"_Yeah, Gibbs."_

"Probie, I'm on the way back. There's weather in the Midwest an' my goddamn flight was cancelled. Gonna need to crash one more night."

"'_Kay Boss, no problem. Meet me at Charlie's. We're just wrapping up a job. See ya later."_

"Roger that. See ya then Probie."

As Mike walked up to the bar, carryon in hand, the evening bartender, Seamus Dolan grinned.

"Back so soon Mike?"

"Ah, my goddamn flight was cancelled. Jameson, water back. An' put this behind the bar for me 'til later."

Mike hefted his carryon up, handing it to Dolan.

"Sure thing Mike. You gonna need a cab?"

"Nah, Gibbs said he'll be here after they put a job to bed."

"Sounds good. Those guys haven't been around much lately."

"Really. How long?"

"Couple of weeks at least. During the summer I think I only saw McGee and DiNozzo. Sometimes by themselves other times with each other. It was weird. The whole bunch used to come in, even Gibbs. Then, wham. Just DiNozzo or McGee. What was goin' on?"

_Ziva_

"No idea lad, but I wouldn't count tonight's tips just yet. It's just Gibbs, far as I know."

Mike eased himself onto a barstool as Seamus slid his Jameson to him. Franks sighed as the whiskey slid down his throat warming his insides.

_Sometimes a beer just don't cut it. Now if I could have a cigarette, things would be perfect._

For a Monday, Charlie's had a decent crowd. Since it was two blocks from the North Gate of the Navy Yard, there were plenty of uniforms present. JAG lawyers, staff pogues from the Naval District and a sprinkling of Marines. Also, if you looked closely at the civilians present you'd notice NCIS agents and off duty Metro cops. The tables toward the back of the bar were filling up. Shortly it would be hard to find a vacant table.

Mike's stomach growled reminding him he hadn't eaten since early afternoon. His eyes found the chalkboard near the bar announcing today's fare. Charlie's menu varied from day to day. Whatever the cook felt like cooking that day was what you'd get. Today it was sheppard's pie, meatloaf and mashed potatoes with green beans, or Texas chili. Franks waved Seamus over.

"Yeah Mike?"

"Lemme have some of that sheppard's pie, Dolan."

"Okay Mike, comin' up."

As Mike turned back towards the door, his Probie accompanied by Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo entered. The two men slowed as they came abreast of the memorial wall by the entrance. The top half of the wall was composed of pictures of slain police officers, both uniformed and plainclothes. Before the Metro PD District moved, Charlie's was a cop bar. When the station moved to the opposite side of the district the wall stayed. The bottom half of the wall contained pictures of NCIS agents killed in the line of duty. Several of them were friends of Mike's. In front of the wall was a small table with a single votive candle burning. When the candle expired you could buy another for a buck from the bartender. At the end of the year whatever money was collected was donated to charity. This year it was going to be the Wounded Warrior Foundation. There was never a day when there wasn't a lit candle on the table.

Gibbs and Dinozzo walked up and slid onto stools next to Franks.

"Probie, DiNozzo. I got the first one. What'll ya have?"

"Jim Beam Black Label."

"Glenlivet."

Dolan nodded and went to get the drinks. Tony grinned at Mike.

"Thought you were goin' home today Mike?"

"Well, Mother Nature had other ideas. I hopefully will be leavin' tomorrow at 1800. We'll see."

Dolan delivered the drinks. Mike lifted his glass.

"Absent friends."

The other men echoed his sentiment.

**Charlie's Bar, 2320hrs**

After Gibbs and Tony arrived , McGee and Abby walked in. The group grabbed one of the last tables. Before they sat Ziva came in and Tony waved.

"Hey Zi, over here!"

As Ziva got closer she noticed Mike and she looked down.

_Play it cool Mikey._

"Officer David. How are you?"

"I am well, Franks. How have you been?"

"Fair to middlin'. Can I get you a drink?"

Ziva looked up and smiled. It didn't reach her eyes.

"I believe I'll have a mojito."

Several hours and drinks later the group had finally dwindled down to Mike and Ziva. Abby and McGee were the first to go, pleading a long day. Tony was next after trying to get Ziva to accept a ride over to the Navy Lodge.

"C'mon Zee-vah it's on my way."

"I will be fine Tony, I need the exercise. It is only three blocks from here."

Giving her his 'kicked puppy' look he gave up and left the bar. Gibbs raised an eyebrow at Franks.

"I'm here 'cause _you _need a place to crash."

"True Probie. But _I_ don't need a ride. I'll see ya at your place."

Gibbs looked from his former boss to the young Israeli woman and shrugged.

"Okay Boss. Ziver, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight Gibbs."

After Jethro left the bar, Mike sipped his drink and waited.

"Thank you for not mentioning we met earlier."

"_De nada._ None of their business."

A waitress walked up.

"Can I get you another round hun?"

Mike looked at Ziva. She gave a minuscule shake of her head.

"I'll sail again, but the young lady is done."

"Sure thing hun."

Ziva watched the waitress walk away.

"Remember this afternoon I told you Tony was the least of my problems?"

"Uh, huh."

"Well, I think that has changed."

"How so?"

Ziva sighed.

"I followed him into the men's room to talk to him. We were about to…come to an understanding when he got an idea about the case and ran out. Now things are still unresolved."

"You followed him into the men's room?"

Ziva nodded and Mike guffawed.

"I'da liked to have seen _that._ Listen kiddo, I'm not Ann Landers, hell I've got enough issues of my own, God knows. But, this _thing_ with you and DiNozzo is not unique. It's happened before an' it'll happen again I'm sure."

"Rule 12."

Mike smiled.

"Right. I keep forgetting you and Jenny were partners once."

Ziva sighed again.

"She had her regrets."

"I know. We had a long talk about what might have been. At the diner."

Ziva's eyes grew wide.

"She talked to you about that?"

"Yes she did. Listen, Gibbs is Gibbs. What works for him doesn't necessarily mean it'll work for others. _You_ have to go where _you_ need to go. Then take the consequences when they come."

Ziva looked at her hands and nodded. When she looked up she smiled. This time it reached her eyes.

"If this _thing_ as you call it blows up in my face, can I escape to say, Mexico?"

Mike laughed.

"I dunno. Can ya build a hot tub?"

**A/N: **There you have it. I know I'll probably get at least **one** review that'll tell me to start a Charlie's Bar story, but I'm gonna need more than that. So get crackin'.


	11. Ani l'dodi, l'dodi li

**Disclaimer: NCIS is not mine, never will be. Also I am **_**not **_**making a profit from all this effort.**

**Authors Note: **Everybody seemed to really like the idea of a "Charlie's Bar" story a la "El Viejo". So I'll probably do it. People also seemed to like how I write Mike and Ziva together, hence this story. I've written four Mike/Ziva stories: a standalone, "The Lion's Den". One in "El Viejo", 'Tea & No Sympathy' and two in "You Can See a Lot Just By Observing", 'The Warmth of the Sun' and 'A Tale From Charlie's'. Hope you enjoy _this _Mike and Ziva story as well.

**Spoilers: **This story is a follow on to 'A Tale From Charlie's'. It takes place sometime in what will be Season 8. The dust has settled from however the writers decided to start Season 8. It's sort of a 'what if'. This next statement will make a lot of people happy. TIVA happens. That's all I'll say. You probably should read 'A Tale From Charlie's' before reading this story, but you don't have to, I'll understand.

**Mike's house, Baja Mexico, Present Day, 1430hrs**

Mike Franks' pick up was broke again. Normally not a big deal. But ever since he lost his right index finger, everything is a little more difficult. Shooting, writing, and now working on his truck. Though he can still grip tools with his right hand, he was trying to use his left more. Currently Mike was taking a little break from trying to change the sparkplugs. He was balefully looking at the skinned knuckles of his left hand and nursing a Corona.

_If this keeps up, I'm gonna need skin grafts._

"Ah c'mon Franks, suck it up and get back ta work."

As Mike dove back under the hood, he heard a vehicle turn into his driveway and start down. Unconsciously his .45 was in his left hand. He faced the driveway and stood with the pistol hidden behind his back. The car, obviously a rental came into view. The sunlight bouncing off the windshield obscured the driver and any passengers. Mike shifted his feet preparing for whoever came out of the car. When the vehicle stopped the driver stepped out smiling. Mike visibly relaxed and his .45 disappeared back under his shirttail.

"_Hola _Franks."

Mike grinned and growled.

"How many times have I told ya to call me Mike, Agent David?"

"Oh, a couple of dozen I think."

"Slow learner?"

Ziva looked around interestedly.

"The house looks like nothing happened."

"Yup. The insurance covered most of it. Whatever was left, Leon covered out of his "black" budget.

Ziva came over to Mike leaning on the side of the pickup. She looked happier than he'd ever seen her. Franks raised an eyebrow.

"So, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?"

Ziva's look changed from happy to somewhat uncomfortable.

"I have a favor to ask."

Mike smiled.

"Let me guess. DiNozzo already screwed up and you want me to kill him so suspicion won't fall on you?"

Ziva looked shocked and started to stutter.

"No, no, no, that's not it at all. Tony's…"

"Ziva, Ziva, I'm just yankin' your chain. C'mon let's go sit on the deck and you can tell me what this is all about."

Mike led Ziva to the back deck and pulled two chairs around to face the ocean.

"Beer?"

Ziva nodded yes and Mike went into the kitchen and came back with two cold Corona's. Handing one to Ziva, he plopped down in the other chair and lit a cigarette.

"Okay Agent Da-veed, out with it. What's going on?"

Ziva looked uncomfortable again.

"Well, you know that Tony and I were engaged last month…."

Franks nodded.

"Yeah, Probie called me at Carlos'. I thought he was gonna blow a main safety gasket. Took me twenty minutes to calm him down. He still mad?"

"No, actually once he got used to the idea, he's been very supportive."

"So what's the problem?"

"There's no problem…"

Mike sighed heavily.

"So, you came down to Baja why? Needed to burn some frequent flyer miles?"

Ziva sighed, stood and started to pace in front of Mike.

"You know I'm estranged from my father. I want someone to walk me down the aisle at my wedding. It can't be him…I'd like it to be you."

Ziva stopped and looked intently at Franks. For one of the few times in his life, Mike Franks was speechless. After a few seconds Mike's brain unlocked.

"Ah, okay, I'd swear I just heard you ask me to walk you down the aisle for your wedding. Don't you think Gibbs would be a better choice, seeing as he's the "Dad" in the semi-dysfunctional family that's Team Gibbs?"

"I asked him. He gave me that Sphinx-like look and said, 'You should ask Mike', then he walked away smiling."

Mike grunted.

"Well, that being the case, I'd be honored to walk you down the aisle at your wedding, Ziva."

Ziva David closed the distance between them and grabbed Mike in a very Abby-like hug.

"Thank you Mike."

**Eight months later, Washington Navy Yard Chapel, 1252hrs**

Mike Franks stood on the chapel steps smoking. He was wearing a black Bill Blass tuxedo.

_I look like a goddamn penguin and this bowtie is killin' me._

"Mike, _Mike."_

Mike turned toward the chapel doorway. Abby's head stuck out. Her trademark pigtails were gone replaced by a very stylish up do.

"Get yourself in here. Ziva's havin' a freakout."

Mike sighed, ground out his smoke on the sole of his shoe and field stripped the butt, letting the tobacco and paper fragments scatter with the wind. He placed the filter in his pocket. Franks walked thru the chapel's vestibule to the doorway of a side room. The bridesmaids were standing near the entry to the chapel proper. Abby was the maid of honor while Camilla and Amaya were the bridesmaids. Hope was the flower girl. There was no ring bearer. Out in the chapel, Tim McGee was siding his partner as best man. Gibbs and Ducky were acting as groomsmen. Leon and his family were there along with Jackson Gibbs and M. Allison Hart. There were also ten or twelve colleagues of the bride and groom.

Franks turned the knob and slipped into the room. Ziva David's ivory colored off the shoulder Vera Wang wedding gown swished loudly as she paced back and forth muttering in Hebrew.

Mike grinned.

_Man, she's really wigging._

"Ziva, _Ziva, AGENT DAVID!"_

Ziva abruptly stopped and spun around.

"Mike!"

"Hey kiddo. You okay?"

"Um, no. Ah, yes... oh God, I don't know."

"Hey, relax. It's gonna be fine. You love him, and he loves you. That's all that matters. The rest'll take care of itself."

Ziva muttered something under her breath.

"I didn't catch that, what did you say?"

"I said, 'Ani l'dodi, l'dodi li', it's from the Song of Songs and it means 'I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine'. It's engraved inside our wedding rings."

"That's really nice. So, c'mon let's do this."

Ziva sighed and took Mike's arm, finally smiling. The two entered the vestibule, falling in behind the bridesmaids. The music started in the chapel and the flower girl and bridesmaids entered. Mike and Ziva stood at the doorway. The music changed and the crowd stood.

Mike and Ziva walked down the aisle towards Tony, Tim and the Navy chaplain. They stopped in front of Tony. Franks turned, kissed Ziva on the cheek and put her hand in Tony's. Mike turned back to Tony, smiled and murmured without moving his lips.

"_If you screw this up DiNozzo you'll be wearin' your ass for a hat, I guaran-damn-tee."_

It was a tie as to whose eyes got bigger, Tony's or the chaplain's.

**A/N: **So what do you think? As I said up top, it's a 'what if' and a Mike and Ziva story and a TIVA story, sorta. If there are any TIVA writers out there that want to delve into the time frame between 'A Tale From Charlie's' and this story, have at it with my blessing. I'm out. 


	12. One Good Turn Deserves Another

**Disclaimer: I am not making a profit from what I write about Mike Franks, Leroy Jethro Gibbs et al.**

**Authors Note: **Last week I was channel surfing and stopped at USA Network (big surprise), "Deliverance" was on. So I stopped to watch. It reminded me of the two stories I've been trying to write. One is for **5Snowflakes**, about Gibbs sniper mission and being saved by Rose. I've never been able to get that one to gel. The other is for **M E Wofford**, about the big hug Abby gives Mike in the lab. There's just nothing there, no hook. But, I got the idea for this story.

**Background/Spoilers: ** As usual the Continuity Dept. on the show has made my life difficult. In the elevator when Mike and Gibbs are talking about Rose, Mike mentions Shannon and Kelly and the fact that in '92 Gibbs was _happily married. _Say what again? Married to who? Wife #2? Got me. I'm just going to ignore that. Anyway, spoilers for Deliverance obviously. This is my take on how Rose gets from Colombia to the land of the 24 hour generator and the big PX.

**Technical Notes: **Going to be using some terms and acronyms that bear explaining:

**SAD- S**pecial **A**ctivities **D**ivision, arm of the CIA responsible for covert and paramilitary operations.

**Phoenix Program- **CIA sponsored program during the Vietnam War that targeted the VCI (Viet Cong Infrastructure), i.e. the leadership and cadre for killing, capture or conversion. This mission was accomplished by South Vietnamese PRU's (Provincial Reconnaissance Units) which were advised by either Navy SEALS or Army Green Berets.

**Dinky dau- **GI corruption of the Vietnamese 'dien cui dau' meaning 'crazy'.

**To tin- **Cop-speak for showing your credentials.

**Tradecraft- **A collective word used in the Intelligence Community for the techniques used in modern espionage.

**Direct Action (DA) - **Small scale special operations conducted in hostile, denied or politically sensitive areas. Usually deniable if they go wrong.

**Asset- **An outside person who provides intelligence.

**NCIS Field Office, Camp Pendleton MCB, Wednesday June 17, 1992 1540hrs**

Special Agent Mike Franks was having a pretty good day until his phone rang. It was half an hour until quitting time. Mike was looking forward to a couple of cold ones at the Code Four followed by dinner at his favorite Chinese restaurant. Elena was up in LA visiting relatives. Mike's phone rang, outside line.

"Agent Franks."

"_Hey Mikey, it's Jerry Faust, how ya doin'?"_

Franks' face went blank, then cleared and a slight frown creased his face.

"Jerry, long time, no see."

"_Yeah, I'm in the area, thought we could get together, catch up and swap some lies."_

"Tonight?"

"_Uh, yeah, say 1700 at Harrigans?"_

"Sure Jerry. I'll see ya then."

"_Great Mikey, see ya."_

Mike hung up the phone, memories clicking through his mind rapid fire.

"Something up Boss?"

Franks started and looked across his desk into the piercing blue eyes of his Probie, Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

"Nah Probie. Just a guy I worked with a while back. He wants to get together. You all caught up?"

"Yes Boss."

"Take off then. I'll see ya tomorrow."

Gibbs gave Mike a 'Really?' look, but started moving immediately before Franks changed his mind. After Gibbs left, Mike lit a cigarette and contemplated. Several years ago he would have left as soon as Probie left the office

_But you're older and a little wiser now ain't ya Mikey?_

Mike sighed, ground out his smoke in his ashtray and headed for the SAC's office. When he got there Mike stuck his head in. SAC Harold 'Iron Ass' Applegate was plowing through a desk full of paperwork. He felt eyes on him and looked up.

"Something I can do for you Franks?"

Mike walked in and closed the door. Applegate raised an eyebrow.

"What's going on?"

"Well Harold, I just got a call from a guy I worked with 'down South' back in the eighties. Name's Jerry Faust. He's with SAD."

"So?"

"Back then his unit was in Colombia. We crossed paths a few times since I was working out of the Naval Mission in Cartagena."

"Still waiting for the point Franks."

Mike sighed.

"The last time we saw each other, I was looking at him over the front sight of my Python ready to blow his shit away."

"_What!"_

"Ah, he blew the cover of one of my informants to make one of _his_ look good. The guy was smoked by the Medellin Cartel. I sorta lost my temper. Cooler heads in the room prevailed and I didn't shoot him. He just called and wants to meet and 'catch up'."

"Maybe he wants to bury the hatchet."

Franks barked out a laugh.

"Harold, this guy was with SEAL Team 2 in 'Nam. He worked in the 'Phoenix Program'. Even by SEAL standards he was boo-coo dinky dau. I don't think he's forgiven or forgotten."

"So you think he wants to bury the hatchet in you?"

"Maybe not. If he wanted to kill me, I'da woke up dead this morning."

"Are you gonna meet him?"

"Uh huh. 1700 at Harrigans."

"You want to take anybody with you?"

"Nah, I just wanted to let you know in case I don't show up for work tomorrow."

"Well, thanks for that. Call me later and let me know what's going on."

"Will do Harold. See ya tomorrow."

**Harrigans Seafood Restaurant, Oceanside, CA 1701hrs**

Harrigans was one of Oceanside's better seafood restaurants. It was also difficult to surveil. The building was on a dead end and surrounded by mostly private residences with only a few commercial buildings. The outdoor dining patio was in the rear of the building, out of sight of the street. Mike knew Faust would have people covering him. Tradecraft dictated that the cover team would arrive first, about thirty minutes before the meet. They would check the ground for any hostiles and stay to cover their principal. So Franks arrived _forty five _minutes before the meet. He 'tinned' the hostess so he could talk to the manager. Mike explained that he was meeting someone in the course of an investigation and he wanted to observe their arrival without being seen. He assured the manager nothing untoward would happen during the meeting. The manager showed Mike up to an unused office on the second floor.

Franks opened the blinds and stayed far enough back so he wouldn't show in the window. First to arrive was a guy in a nondescript sedan. He sat for about ten minutes before strolling up one side of the street and then back to his car. If you knew where to look (and Mike did), you could see a slight bulge at the small of the guy's back. Next to arrive was a male/female team who came straight to the restaurant, strolling in from the main drag. They passed under Mike going inside. Right before going out of sight, the male lifted his left hand like he was scratching his ear, except his lips were moving. Franks figured he'd be seeing them on the patio. At ten to five, the dude in the sedan lifted a mike to his lips and spoke. Five minutes later Jerry Faust pulled up to the valet parking in a Chrysler LeBaron convertible.

Exactly at five o'clock Mike left the office and went downstairs. For today's festivities Franks left his Python at the office. He was armed with just his backup, a Charter Arms Bulldog .44 in an ankle holster. As he reached the door to the patio, Mike slipped on a pair of Wayfarers and stepped into the sunlight.

_Showtime._

Franks scanned the patio and saw Faust at a table halfway into the dining area. He was sitting facing the door. Faust spotted Mike and gave a little wave. Mike nodded back and walked towards the table. The male/female team was sitting to Faust's left at a table slightly behind him. As Mike approached Jerry Faust smiled.

_Still looks like Lee Marvin, if 'ol Lee had that maniacal glint in his eyes._

Faust was wearing khakis and a dark blue polo shirt. As Mike got to the table Faust stood and extended his hand.

"Mike, good to see ya."

Franks kept his face neutral and shook Faust's hand.

"Nice to see you too, Jerry."

Jerry motioned Mike to sit and Franks did so to Faust's right. This let Mike not only watch the team to his left, but the door also. The waiter came up to the table and asked if they'd like drinks. Before Faust could open his mouth, Mike spoke.

"I'll have a Corona with a slice of lime and my _compadre'll _have a Perrier with a twist of lemon."

The waiter went away as Faust grinned.

"Aww, I'm touched. You remembered."

"Yeah, well don't think we're gonna be holding hands and swapping spit later Jerry."

Faust laughed.

"Same old Franks. So how have ya been?"

"C'mon Faust, let's cut to the chase. You don't give a rat's ass how I've been. And before you start, I don't perform well in front of an audience."

Jerry put on a 'who me?' look.

"Audience?"

Mike took off his Wayfarers and laid them on the table, looking directly into Faust's eyes.

"Yeah, the nice couple on the left and slightly behind you. Also the guy in the sedan and anybody else who may have shown up since I sat down."

Jerry Faust nodded his head in approval.

"Very good Michael. I was wondering how you got in here. You were already here."

Faust made a couple of hand gestures and the male and female left the patio.

"There ya go Mikey. Now it's just us chickens."

The waiter returned with their drinks and took their dinner order. Mike ordered the blackened swordfish and Faust red snapper.

As the waiter left Franks turned to the CIA operator.

"Okay Faust, what's this all about?"

"You work with Leroy Jethro Gibbs don't ya Mike?"

"Yeah, he's my Probie. What's he got to do with you and me?"

"Well, this isn't really about us. Just relax, and I'll read you in."  
"Read me in to what exactly?"

Faust raised a hand.

"Just listen okay? As you know, I've been in Colombia since the mid-eighties trying to dismantle the Medellin Cartel. In '88 the Marines sent a unit to work with the Colombian Army's Anti-Drug Regiment. This unit did some training, advising and sometimes Direct Action missions without the Colombians. _My_ unit's job was to provide intel and support to the Marines. In early '90 we had an asset in a village near the _hacienda_ of a lieutenant of Pablo Escobar's. She had access to the house, knew the guard schedule and knew when the guy would be at home. So it was decided to send in a sniper and deal with the guy."

Mike spoke up.

"Gibbs."

"Correct. Using the intel provided by our asset, Gibbs went in and did his thing. A very pretty shot by the way. 1200 yards if it was an inch. Anyway, leaving the area, Gibbs bumped into a cartel patrol and was wounded. He got away, but didn't get far. Our asset found him, hid him and kept him alive until my guys could extract him. We offered to take her too, but she declined. She said she wasn't going to leave her family behind. All well and good. Gibbs comes out, heals up and his unit gets pulled and sent to Saudi for the Gulf War, Part 1."

"Still waiting for where I fit into all this Jerry."

At this point the waiter comes with their food. After he leaves, Faust continued.

"A week ago, our asset called an old contact number requesting we pull her out. Normally any calls like that would be ignored. But, the guy who answered the phone was on the extraction team so he recognized her voice."

"This 'asset' have a name Jerry?"

"'Course she does Mike. It's Rose, Rose Tamayo. Apparently some kind of fever hit the villie and killed Rose's people, now she wants out. Ordinarily we'd say 'sorry ya missed the boat', but she did save Gibbs' neck so we pulled her out and she's at a safe house in Tijuana."

"Again Faust, what does this have to do with me?"

Faust sighed and looked embarrassed.

"The pantywaists in Langley won't let us bring her over the border. We're not supposed to operate on US soil. We need somebody to escort her to her new home."

Mike raised an eyebrow.

"Well, why not the FBI or the Marshals Service? Why me?"

"To be honest Mikey, since you had the balls to want to kill me back in Colombia, I trust you. I don't trust those other people. Plus even though you have a tendency to bend the rules, you have the rep of being so honest it hurts. Give me a 'yes' and I'll have my bosses square it with your Director. Whattya say?"

**Two days later, CIA safe house Tijuana Mexico 1330hrs**

Mike Franks pushed open the door to the bedroom. A young woman holding a one year old boy was sitting on the bed.

_Least his eyes aren't blue._

"Hello Rose, my name's Mike Franks."

**A/N: **Okay, there it is. Kinda long I know, but that's how she came out of my head. Hope you liked it.


	13. The Law of Unintended Consequences

**Disclaimer: NCIS belongs solely to its copyright owners. I'm a fan, and I'm writing **_**fan**_** fiction for my own amusement. Though sometimes I swear I could spin a better story than the guys writing for the show. Modest much?**

**Authors Note: **I enjoyed the season opener. I'm hoping the writers get back to basics and what made the show popular. But I think we're in for a Vance story arc. Directors have a short shelf life on this show. Just sayin'. This story was going to be a little Gibbs/Franks interaction based on their conversation in the basement. But my muse had other ideas. The setting stayed the same but the characters involved did not. Hope ya like it.

**Spoilers: **Season eight opener, "Spider and the Fly", if you haven't seen it.

**Charlie's Bar, Present day**

Mike Franks sat sipping a Corona and waiting. After picking up his return ticket to Mexico from Leon Vance, Director of NCIS, Franks was going to meet and have a couple of drinks with his Probie, Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Mike's cell phone vibrated. He answered without looking at the screen.

"Franks"

"Boss, I'm gonna be a little late. Gotta fix up a paperwork snafu."

"Okay Probie. Don't take too long. You're already one behind."

Gibbs laughed.

"Do my best."

Mike snapped his phone closed and continued sipping his beer. It was a slow night at Charlie's. The bar and tables were half full. Seamus Dolan was behind the bar dispensing drinks and wiseass remarks in equal measure. Dolan was in his middle sixties, his red hair streaked with gray. Sea green eyes twinkled with humor as he needled his regulars sitting at the bar. Dolan served in Vietnam, manning a .50 cal on a PBR in the 'Brown Water' Navy. After his tour, he returned to his native Boston, joining the Police Department and spending twenty years in the Patrol Division. Dolan still spoke with a decided Boston accent though he'd lived in the DC/Metro area for at least ten years. Seamus smiled as he made his way to Mike.

"Another Corona Michael?"

"Sure."

"How can ya drink that dishwater? There's nothin' to it."

"I like it. Besides, unlike _some people_, Guinness was not mother's milk to me."

"Aye, it's true I've been known to drink a pint or two. But Ma didn't let me have any 'til _after _I was weaned!"

Both men laughed as the bartender went to the cold box to bring Mike another beer. With his second beer in hand, Mike leaned back and sighed.

_It's been a helluva couple of months. Almost as bad as when Jenny died._

Shaking his head to clear the images of _that _sad interlude away, Franks looked up in time to see Abby Sciuto push through the double doors of the bar. She scanned the area, and seeing Mike gave a sort of half wave. As she moved towards the bar, Franks caught Seamus' eye.

"Gonna need a Zombie down here."

Dolan nodded his head. Mike watched Abby come towards him. She was dragging her feet and the normally bubbly Goth was looking solemn. She took a seat on the stool next to Mike. Seamus set the Zombie down in front of Abby.

"Here ya go Abby darlin'."

Abs gave Dolan a small smile.

"Thanks Seamus. Thanks Mike."

"_Ta failte romhat."_

"_De nada."_

Franks sipped his beer and waited. Abby had something on her mind. He'd let her get to it in her own time. After taking two deep sips of her cocktail, Abby spoke in a low tone.

"Do you hate me?"

As this was the last thing Franks was expecting to hear, it took his mouth a couple of beats to catch up to his brain.

"Say?"

"Do you hate me?"  
"Abby, why would I hate _you_?"

The Goth looked at Mike eyes wide.

"Why? I wrote that stupid report, which started the whole stupid thing. You got shot, lost a finger, your house got burned down, Amira and Hope had to go into hiding, Gibbs would have gone to jail…"

"Whoa Abs, slow down."

Mike reached out, putting a finger over Abby's lips cutting off her rant.

"Listen to me young lady. I've got a couple of questions for ya. Did you shoot me?"

"No"

"Did you burn my house down?"

"Well, no"

"Did the Probie go to jail?"

"No"

"So _you_ didn't do any of those things. The bad guys did. _They_ shot me. _They _burned down my house. Abby Sciuto _did not. _No Abs, I. Do. Not. Hate. _You_."

A few tears escaped from Abby's eyes. Mike reached over and gently wiped them away with his thumb.

"Hey, belay the waterworks."

"But Mike…"

"Shush. You're a scientist right? So you must have heard of 'the law of unintended consequences' right?"

"Sure, Professor Robert Merton came up with the name. The idea's been around for ages. It's sorta like Murphy's Law."

Mike nodded, smiling.

"That's right. And that's what happened here. There was no way when you went down to Mexico you'd know where that cold case would lead."

"But your house, your hand…"  
"My house is rebuilt and bein' left handed in some things ain't so bad. Stop beatin' yourself up over this."

Abby sighed.

"I still feel awful about it though."

"Listen kiddo, as of now you can stop feeling that way. I am not, nor could I ever be mad at you. Now start smiling. That's an order."

Abby took a deep sip of her Zombie and smiled, saluting Mike with her left hand.

"Yes SIR."

Mike rolled his eyes.

"Wrong hand Abs. And don't 'sir' me, I work for a living."  
"No you don't. You're retired!"

"Sometimes it don't feel like it!"

They both laughed. Unnoticed Gibbs arrived next to the pair. He caught just the laugh.

"What'd I miss?"

**A/N: M E Wofford** was after me a couple of months ago to write a Mike/Abby story. The one I wrote was inadequate I thought. I hope this one was better. My first tag for Season 8. Review please and let me know how I did.


	14. For Family

**Disclaimer: DPB and Don McGill are responsible for NCIS, it belongs to them. I on the other hand just stumble around trying to write a decent story every once in a while. No profit being made here, so move along.**

**Authors Note: **_This _is the story that was supposed to be Chapter Thirteen. But as usual my muse decided otherwise. They both take place on the same evening. I really liked the conversation Gibbs and Mike had in his basement. Their relationship shone thru very brightly. Also, **honeydust9251** pointed out that it could be unlucky to stop at Chap. 13. Not that I believe in that or anything (_as he throws salt over his left shoulder)_. Hope you enjoy it.

**Spoilers: **Spider and the Fly, I guess. Also, you may want to read the chapter "Enemies and Friends" in "El Viejo", it gives a background to this story.

_**Mike: **__"Do what you have to for family."_

_**Gibbs: **__"What rule is that?"_

_**Mike: **__"The unspoken one." _

**Charlie's Bar, Present Day**

Mike Franks was waiting for Gibbs.

_Sorta like '96._

And it was. Same bar, same drink (Jameson, water back), no smoking though (damn _El Norte_). This time he was waiting for his Probie to come back from taking Abby Sciuto, forensic tech home. Last time he'd been waiting to tell Gibbs he was retiring. The alleged reason was Franks' disenchantment at being ignored about the Khobar Towers bombing. The _real_ reason was Gibbs was eligible to lead a new MCRT. But there was a problem. He was Franks' partner. The head of the Selection Board, the Assistant Director of Operations, hated Franks. So the ADO would use Franks "unorthodox methods" to torpedo Gibbs' shot at the team. The simple solution was Mike would retire, clearing the way for Gibbs. Of course if Mike told Gibbs he was retiring so Gibbs could have his shot, Jethro would do the right thing and pass on the promotion. So Franks did the only thing he could under the circumstances, and something the Probie would never expect, Mike lied to Gibbs.

But, after catching two bullets in a four month span, Mike was feeling like one of those Roman tribunes during his triumph, with the slave whispering in his ear "thou art mortal". So when the Probie got back, Mike was going to fess up.

"_MICHAEL!"_

His name being called sharply snapped Franks out of his reverie. He looked up into the concerned green eyes of the evening bartender, Seamus Dolan.

"Where were you boyo? I've been talkin' to ya for these past five minutes."

"Sorry Dolan. Was wool gatherin' I guess."

"Well then ya should be able to knit a sweater by now. I was askin' if you think Gibbs will be back."

"Yeah. He went to take Abby home. He'll be back."

Dolan nodded.

"All right. Anything I can get ya?"

"Nah, Seamus, I'm good."

Dolan nodded again and moved down the bar to serve other customers.

Mike sipped his Jameson, the whiskey leaving a pleasant warm feeling.

_Wish I could have a smoke._

After talking to Gibbs in his basement, Mike decided that his Probie would be okay with Franks deceiving him back in '96.

_I guess we'll find out._

Ten minutes later Gibbs pushed through the double doors of the bar and reclaimed the stool next to Mike.

"Didja get her home okay Probie?"

Gibbs chuckled.

"Yeah Boss. After three Zombies she was feelin' no pain. The hardest part was getting those boots she wears off her feet. She was no help."

Mike smiled.

"She's gonna be feelin' it in the morning, that's for sure."

Seamus Dolan returned and raised an eyebrow at Gibbs.

"Jim Beam Black Label, Seamus."

Dolan moved off to get the drink. Mike shifted on his stool.

_No time like the present._

"Remember when we were talking in your basement and you said you thought I was dead?"

Gibbs nodded.

"Well, when I was laid up down there in La Paz, I had plenty of time to think. There's something I want to get off my chest."

"What Mike?"

"When I retired back in '96 it wasn't because of the Khobar Towers bombing."

Gibbs looked puzzled.

"It wasn't? But on the plane ride to DC you were ranting and raving about 'the knuckleheads inside the Beltway'."

Mike smiled.

"Yeah, I said that. Meant it too. But the real reason I 'pulled the pin' was so you'd get the job you have now."

"_What!"_

"Don't get your knickers in a twist. Listen Gibbs, we were partners, gonna be for a long time. But Morrow was coming in, in '97. He wanted to start a new MCRT with expanded responsibilities. To head that new team, they wanted _you._"

"But…"

Mike raised his hand.

"Lemme finish. The Director called me in for a little heart to heart. He thought you'd be perfect for Team Leader for the new team. One problem. Me. The Selection Board was headed by my good buddy, the ADO. That s.o.b woulda hung me around your neck like an albatross. So since you already knew I was pissed, the Director and I got some rumors started and the rest is history."

Gibbs looked a little stunned.

"So you left the agency so I could take the new MCRT?"

Mike nodded.

"Uh huh. Look, I'd taught you everything you needed to know. You were ready to go out on your own. Hell, you needed to go out on your own. So now ya know. I figured I owed it to ya to give you the straight skinny."

"Shit, Mike you didn't have to do it. I…"

"You'd done the right thing and stood by me, screwing yourself in the process. And don't try an' tell me otherwise."  
Dolan brought two fresh drinks, studiously ignoring both men. Drinks were sipped and Gibbs sighed.

"The unspoken rule."

Mike nodded.

"At that time you were the closest thing I had to family. You _deserved_ the shot. I made sure you _got_ it."

Gibbs shook his head.

"Christ, Mike. I…"

"Don't say anything Jethro, I know. Part of the reason I told you this now is, you're gonna be in my spot one day soon. I figure it may make your decision easier if you knew what I did."

Gibbs nodded.

"DiNozzo."

"Exactly. I've seen you around him. You care about him as much as I care about you. Don't worry the boy'll be able to hold his own."

Gibbs nodded.

"Yes he will. Not quite yet though. I've still got a few things I can show him."

Franks laughed.

"Amen to that."

Jethro downed his drink.

"So what time is your flight tomorrow?"

Franks drained his Jameson.

"1300 outta Dulles. What time is your Dad headin' back to Stillwater?"

"I figured he and I could take you to the airport and leave from there."

Mike smiled and nodded.

"Good choice Probie."

**A/N: **So, my second tag for the season opener. The season looks pretty good so far. Hope the writers keep it up. Do a guy a favor and leave a review. Especially you lurkers out there. C'mon you know you want to. Just click on the blue button at the bottom. Oh yeah, one more thing; J-E-T-S! Jets! Jets! Jets!


	15. No Rest For The Wicked

**Disclaimer: Any copyrighted material used in this piece of fiction is the sole property of its creator. I'm just borrowing it. Please don't sue me.**

**Authors Note: **I came up with the idea for this fic after I wrote "A Bottle of Wine". It's another competent Tony story. The outline has been sitting in my idea book since then. I heard the song "Ain't No Rest For The Wicked" by Cage the Elephant and I had my story title and hook. I'm putting it here because "You Can See A Lot Just By Observing "is my most popular story by far. Also I read somewhere online that during Season 8 there are going to be back stories on some of our favorite characters. So I think that this chapter fits the criteria. Enjoy.

**Technical Notes:**

Jargon and abbreviations ahead

**A/ME: **Assistant Medical Examiner.

**Harness bull: **A uniformed police officer.

**Bottom bitch: **A pimp's favorite or oldest whore. She keeps the other girls in line when the pimp is not around.

**pross: **Short for prostitute.

**on the stroll: **A street or area where prostitutes walk and offer their services.

**NHI: N**o **H**umans **I**nvolved. Cynical acronym used by cops to indicate crimes committed by criminals against each other.

**The House: **Nickname for the Maryland House of Correction. Opened in 1879 it was closed in 2007. It was a maximum security prison.

**Stone Whodunit: **Baltimore PD slang for a difficult case.

"…_I said you're such a sweet young thing, Why'd you do this to yourself? She looked at me and this is what she said. Oh there ain't no rest for the wicked, Money don't grow on trees, I got bills to pay, I got mouths to feed, There ain't nothing in this world for free. I can't slow down, I can't hold back, Though you know I wish I could…"_**- Cage the Elephant**

**Aces and Eights Lounge, Baltimore MD, Saturday February 13, 1999 0100hrs**

Detective Anthony 'Tony' DiNozzo, Baltimore PD pulled the unmarked Chevy Lumina up to the crime scene. There were three patrol vehicles, a crime scene truck and the ME's van already there.

"The gang's all here."

This comment came from Tony's partner, Det. Christopher 'Chris' O'Bannion. Chris was a self described "old harness bull". He was six feet tall, balding with red hair and a ruddy complexion. A twenty three year veteran, O'Bannion has investigated homicides for fifteen years. He's been DiNozzo's partner since the young cop arrived eighteen months prior. As Tony exited their car he chuckled.

"You say the same thing every time we pull up to a job."

O'Bannion looked over the car roof while unwrapping a fresh cigar.

"And it's true every time."  
The two men pinned their shields to their jackets and walked up to the crime scene tape that cordoned off the front of the bar. The tape kept a motley group of bystanders at bay. There were street people, hookers and pimps standing around. The Eastern District patrol officer manning the barrier lifted the tape, allowing the newcomers access to the scene.

"We can all go home now; the glory boys have finally arrived. Hey O'B, do you ever smoke one of those ropes you chew on?"

"I do Harrison, fuck you very much. Who was first in?"

Harrison jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

"Walsh and Adams, they're inside."  
"Thanks."

The two detectives walked into the bar. The Aces and Eights was a pimp's hangout. It had a bar along one wall, booths along two others and some tables in the center. There was a hallway alongside the end of the bar. Flashes were coming from the hallway. Approximately fifteen patrons were seated around the bar being spoken to by District detectives and Patrol cops. There was a young officer blocking the mouth of the hallway, flipping through his notebook. DiNozzo and O'Bannion walked up. Tony spoke.

"Hey Walsh, what'cha got?"

The officer looked up.

"Hey Tony. We got the call at 0015. Shots fired. When we got here people were bailing, so we pushed everybody back in. Found the decedent face up, halfway down the hallway. Roscoe 'Alligator' Andrews, pimp, and now dead guy. Took at least three to the chest."

O'Bannion rolled his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other.

"Witnesses?"

Walsh shook his head.

"To the deed itself? No. He was sitting with his bottom bitch Camille, drinking scotch and milk. Got up to go to the head and whammo."

Tony pointed down the hall.

"Bathrooms back that way? Door to the outside?"

Walsh nodded.

"Yes and yes."

O'Bannion sighed.

"Fan-fuckin'-tastic. Thanks Walsh. Let's go Tony."

The partners walked down to the victim. The A/ME crouching at the head of the body looked up.

"Well, if it's not Butch and Sundance."

Chris groaned.

"Not you too. It's bad enough I gotta listen to _him _and all his goddamn movie references, now I gotta listen to _you _too?"

Tony smiled.

"Pay him no mind Parker. Whatta ya got?"

"Ol' 'Gator took three to the chest, one of which went through the palm of his left hand. .38 at least. No exits. Preliminary CoD, gunshot. Know more after the post, which will be some time later today. We'll call."

O'Bannion nodded.

"Thanks, Doc."

For the next several hours, Tony and Chris talked to everybody who was in the Aces and Eights. They got a big fat zero. Tony reached his last interview, a white pross who said her name was JC. Tony shook his head.

"Full name please."

"Jamie Carson."

Tony went through the usual, DOB, address, phone number, cell number.

"Okay, JC, what did you see and or hear?"

Jamie's eyes slid around the bar, settling on two people standing near the door. Tony knew them both. The male was Johnny 'Mack-man' Brown. The female was his bottom bitch, Hazel.

"That your pimp?"

JC nodded.

"Uh huh."

Tony could tell she had something to say. It just wouldn't get said here.

"Okay Jamie. Tell you what, we'll talk somewhere else. You gonna be on the stroll tonight?"

JC smirked.

"Of course Detective."

"I'll find you then. That's all."

JC got up and went over to Mack-man. He grabbed her roughly by the elbow and dragged her out of the bar, Hazel following. Chris wandered over, chewing on his cigar.

"What ya got DiNozzo?"

"Don't know Chris. Maybe something, maybe nothing."

**North Haven St. near Pulaski Highway, Baltimore MD, Saturday February 13, 1999 1923hrs**

After finishing at the crime scene, O'Bannion and DiNozzo returned to the Homicide squad room. Several more hours of paperwork ensued. Tony didn't bother to return to his apartment. The autopsy was going to be at 1330. Tony crashed in the bunkroom that adjoined the Homicide section. After sleep, a shower, fresh clothes and the autopsy, DiNozzo called the Eastern District Vice guys. He found out where Mack-man's girls were usually on the stroll. O'Bannion voiced his doubts about getting anything useful from JC. Tony pointed out that they didn't have anything else going for them. After more paperwork and assisting another team in apprehending a suspect, Tony finally had some free time. Before he left the Homicide squad room Chris grabbed him by the upper arm.

"No cowboy shit, DiNozzo."

Tony grinned and put on his best John Wayne.

"Okay, pilgrim."

DiNozzo checked out a confiscated Volvo sedan from the Confidential Vehicle pool and went in search of JC. Many hours later, Tony spotted her on North Haven St. near Pulaski Highway. She was standing with two other whores. Tony eased the Volvo to the curb and lowered the passenger side window. It was about thirty degrees out, but the whore that sauntered over to the car was wearing a strapless blue mini dress that barely covered her crotch and matching blue vinyl boots. She leaned into the car, putting her ample cleavage prominently on display.

"Hey good looking. Want a date?"

Tony gave her one of his hundred watt smiles.

"I do actually, but no offense, I think the young lady wearing the hot pants is more my speed."

The pross gave Tony a withering stare.

"Honky bitch."

She spun on her heel and walked away motioning to JC.

Jamie Carson walked towards the Volvo swiveling her hips. She was wearing a tight white long sleeved shirt, white hot pants and white vinyl boots. When she leaned into the car, her eyes widened. Tony gave her a grin.

"Told you I'd find you. Get in."

Wordlessly Jamie got in the car. DiNozzo raised the window and pulled away from the curb. Tony looked at JC from the corner of his eye.

"How much do you get for a 'car date'?"

"No frills is fifty. It can go up from there."

"Well, the budget can only stand fifty."

Tony fished two twenties and a ten from his jacket and handed it to JC.

"Easiest fifty of the night. All you gotta do is talk. I know you know something. I saw it in your face at the bar."

Jamie grimaced.

"If I talk to you, what do _I_ get?"

"The warm glow of doing your civic duty?"

JC snorted.

"Not exactly what I was thinking of Detective DiNozzo."

"Okay JC, what _exactly_ were you thinking of?"

"Out. Out of the life."

"Well, I can't guarantee that. You'd have to talk to the Assistant State's Attorney. He or she'll decide if what you've got to say is worth anything."

"Listen DiNozzo, I got a little boy who lives with my mom 'cause the State says I'm unfit. I want to get him back. If I talk will you go to bat for me?"

Tony found a dark spot on a side street and pulled over. He turned to JC.

"I will do what I can. I know someone who runs a shelter slash halfway house for girls like you. I can probably get you in there. I'll talk to Family Services, but I will not promise you anything."

JC nodded, sighed and was quiet for about five minutes.

"It was Eric the Red."

Tony nodded. Paul Larsen, aka Eric the Red, was one of the few white pimps in the Eastern District. He had red hair that he kept in an Afro, hence his nickname.

"Keep going."

Jamie sighed again.

"I was in the Ladies, 'powdering my nose'. Eric the Red must have been in the Men's 'cause I heard the door open. 'Gator was in the hallway. They started arguing. Red stole one of 'Gator's girls apparently. Then I heard three shots and running. I peeked out an' saw 'Gator on the floor. I ran into the bar and Mack-man told me to shut up and sit down. Then the blues showed up, an' then you."

Tony closed his eyes and thought for a minute.

"Okay, I'll talk to the State's Attorney. If the ASA goes along I'll pick you up at your apartment. Don't disappear on me, 'cause I _will_ find you."

Jamie nodded.

"This could be my ticket out. I'll be around, don't worry."

Tony drove back to where he'd picked up JC. The area was empty. Jamie got out and Tony lowered the window.

"Gonna call it a night?"

JC looked over her shoulder and grinned.

"Ain't no rest for the wicked, Detective."

After DiNozzo talked to the ASA assigned to the case, she went for the deal. JC gave her statement. Eric the Red got hauled in. After thirty minutes in the 'box' Tony got him to cop to the murder. Tony got Jamie and her little boy into the halfway house. Several months later DiNozzo went to work for NCIS and lost touch with Jamie Carson.

**Vacant lot, East Fayette St. near the Norfolk & Southern Rail yard, Baltimore MD Monday May 7, 2001 1100hrs**

When Special Agent Tony DiNozzo pulled up to the crime scene in his NCIS Dodge, there was a patrol unit, the ME's van and an unmarked Chevy Lumina.

_The gang's all here._

Tony walked up to the baby faced uniform manning the crime scene tape and flipped open his credentials.

"Special Agent DiNozzo, NCIS. I'm looking for Detective Flowers."

The uniformed cop raised the crime scene tape.

"He's the black dude in the tan trench coat."

"Thanks."

DiNozzo approached the detective in the tan trench coat.

_Looks like Richard Roundtree. 'That cat Shaft is a bad Mother...'_

"Detective Flowers? Special Agent Tony DiNozzo."

"Thanks for coming out. You used to work Homicide for us right?"

Tony nodded.

"Yeah, what's up?"

There was a sheet covered body between two derelict cars. Flowers nodded to the A/ME who flipped back the sheet. Tony's stomach clinched.

The half naked body of Jamie Carson lay staring sightlessly. Flowers looked at DiNozzo.

"Your BPD business card was in a zipped pocket of her purse. Know her?"

Tony looked back at Flowers and went into agent mode. Grief could come later.

"Name's Jamie Carson. Went by the name of JC on the street. She helped me nail a pimp by the name of Paul Larsen, aka Eric the Red for homicide. She used to whore for Johnny 'Mack-man' Brown. I got her into Sister Claire's shelter, along with her little boy. That'd be about two years ago now. She wanted out of the life."

The partner of the uniform who was manning the front of the crime scene snorted.

"_That_ worked out really well."

Tony looked over his shoulder glaring. The young cop raised his hands in a placating gesture.

"C'mon man, NHI, what's the problem."

DiNozzo went to spin around and smack the young cop, but was stopped by Flowers' solid grip on his upper arm.

"_Easy._ Preston, why don't you join your partner and start your preliminary report."

The young cop walked away muttering under his breath. Flowers shrugged at Tony.

"Kids today. Sorry about that."

DiNozzo nodded.

"Whatever. So what have ya got?"

"Zilch."

Flowers nodded at the A/ME who was going for his gurney.

"Dr. Kildare over there says she was killed elsewhere and dumped here. Blunt force trauma to the back of the head."

Tony nodded.

"A trick gone bad?"

"Could be. Other than your card, the only things in her purse were seventy five bucks and some condoms."

Flowers rocked on his feet and looked thoughtful.

"Maybe retaliation for the Eric the Red thing?"

"You could look at it I guess. He's doin' his time in 'The House'."

Flowers groaned.

"I hate Stone Whodunit's."

Tony looked down at the sheet covered body.

"Not too fond of 'em myself."

"Listen DiNozzo, thanks again for coming out. I promise to keep you updated. An' if we find somebody, I'll try to get you here for the takedown."

Tony reached out and shook hands with Flowers.

"Appreciate that."

Tony took one last look at the sheet covered body and walked away. He walked past the two uniforms without acknowledging them. As he drove back to DC, Anthony Dinozzo concluded that sometimes his chosen profession just plain sucked.

"_Oh there ain't no rest for the wicked, Until we close our eyes for good."_

Jamie Carson's murder remains unsolved and is in the BPD Homicide Cold Case Archive.

**A/N: **If I've portrayed any Baltimore neighborhood unfairly, I apologize. I'm just going by MapQuest and Google Maps. I really hope the show gives us a look at Tony as a Baltimore cop. Probably not though. Just my opinion. How about giving me _your _opinion in a review? _Ciao._


	16. You Always Hurt The One You Love

**Disclaimer: I'm really tired of writing this. See any of the previous chapters and pick your favorite.**

**Authors Note: **Belated Merry Christmas and an early Happy New Year to you all. Yesterday I was digging out from the large snow dump Mother Nature decided to drop on the Garden State. As usual when my hands are occupied my brain goes its own way. On Christmas we were at my wife's girlfriend's house. She is a fan of NCIS and had the second season boxed set. We were watching 'The Bone Yard' and I thought I would write a story about the "close combat training" bit at the beginning. Well, I did, sort of. I just moved it several season's ahead. This story takes place after 'A Tale From Charlie's' and 'Ani l'dodi, l'dodi li', chapters 10 and 11 respectively. It has something for everybody that reads my stuff. For TIVA fans (**M E Wofford** springs immediately to mind), for people that don't like DiNozzo (**alix33 **likewise springs to mind), and for those of you who like smut, but not too much. Now that I've piqued your interest what are you waiting for?

**NCIS HQ, MCRT Bullpen 0728hrs**

The elevator doors opened revealing Special Agents Anthony 'Tony' DiNozzo and Ziva David-DiNozzo. They walked the short distance to the bullpen bumping shoulders. Tony noted that the other member of Team Gibbs, Special Agent Tim McGee was already at his desk typing away.

"Ho, McEarly. What're you doing?"

Tim looked up distractedly.

"Typing."

Tony rolled his eyes. Ziva moved to her desk knowing that the torture was just starting. Tony moved closer to Tim's desk.

"Thanks McObvious, the question is why."

It was Tim's turn to roll _his _eyes.

"Because the Boss called me at 0530 ripping me a new one. My report from the case we finished yesterday was missing two paragraphs. I could swear it was complete when I submitted it."

Tony suppressed a smile.

_Gotcha._

Tim sighed.

"I swear the Boss doesn't sleep."

As if on cue, Senior Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs appeared from around a corner, coffee in hand.

"Sleep is overrated McGee."

"Yes Boss."

Gibbs continued past McGee's desk and as he passed DiNozzo the agent received a slap to the back of the head.

"_OW_, what was that for Boss?"

"For deleting the two paragraphs from McGee's report."

Tony's face registered astonishment, Ziva laughed and McGee shot daggers at DiNozzo with his eyes. As Gibbs gained the landing on the stairs leading to the catwalk, he looked down at his agents.

"If we don't catch any cases, I'll see you all in the gym at 1430 for our annual close combat training."

**Gym, basement of NCIS HQ, 1428hrs**

The three agents who comprised Team Gibbs were on the mats stretching when their boss breezed thru the double doors of the gym wearing his sweats. Close combat training, like the annual firearms qualifications was a humbling and sometimes painful experience for the agents. Although their boss was a senior agent, he was in Tony's words 'spry and wily too'.

Gibbs looked over his agents.

"Well, if everybody is loose, we'll start. McGee, you're with me in the boxing ring. Tony, you and Ziva pair off and do some grappling."

McGee groaned. The last time he sparred with Gibbs, he'd been sore for a week. Tony and Ziva smiled. Gibbs noticed.

"If I see you going easy on each other, you'll be sparring with me. Got it?"

Tony and Ziva sounded off together.

"Yes Boss."

As Gibbs and McGee went to the boxing ring, Tony and Ziva squared off opposite each other on the mats. Tony grinned.

"Just so you know my ninja, I've been practicing."  
It was true. Last year after Gibbs took him apart in the boxing ring and Ziva tossed him around like a rag doll, DiNozzo took some action. He looked up the Master Gunnery Sergeant in charge of the Marine Corps Martial Arts Program (MCMAP) for the Navy Yard. Called 'Semper-fu' by enlisted Marines it was a mixture of several martial arts disciplines. Tony figured he'd at least be able to hold his own with his wife.

Ziva smiled, noting that Tony's stance was much more practiced as opposed to last year.

"That may be true my little hairy butt, but I still think you may be overmatched."

Ziva David started her self defense training at twelve. She learned Krav Maga from instructors her father knew at Mossad. She'd honed her skills in real world combat and was as deadly as they come.

Tony grinned.

"Any time you're ready."

Ziva smirked and moved in. She'd try a move that she was sure Tony could counter. If he truly had practiced, the counter would lead to a throw and Ziva would know exactly how painful to make the sparring session.

**Tony and Ziva's Condo 1830hrs.**

Tony groaned as he lowered himself into the hot tub in the master bath. Although this year's training wasn't as painful as last year's, DiNozzo still felt like he'd gone eight rounds with Andre the Giant. Taking an ice bath in the trainer's room after class reduced a lot of the swelling, but Tony was still sore.

_Who'd a thunk a petite looking woman could hit that hard and throw like that._

The hot and swirling water was finally starting to take effect. Tony leaned his head back closing his eyes. Mercifully there wasn't much ribbing from McGee. He'd had his own problems keeping Gibbs from maiming him.

A noise caused Tony to open one eye. His wife was standing at the foot of the hot tub, a small Mona Lisa-like smile gracing her lips. She was clad in nothing but a large towel.

"I killed a man in a hot tub once. It was in Vienna I believe."

"Well, if you did it now, I think it would be classified as a mercy killing."

Chuckling, Ziva dropped her towel and slid into the tub next to her husband.

"Oh come on Tony. You're not that old."

"It's not the years honey, it's the mileage."

"That is a movie quote."

Tony laughed.

"Very good my ninja. Harrison Ford in 'Raiders of the Lost Ark'."

Ziva slid her hands down Tony's chest towards his lap. She purred in his ear.

"Well, let us see if we can roll back your odometer, yes?"

Tony laid his head back and sighed.

_Sometimes getting the crap kicked out of you by your wife had its advantages._

**A/N:** I wanted to title this chapter "I Can Love You Like A Woman Or Fight You Like A Man". Unfortunately it's too long for FFN. The title is a song by Koko Taylor. The song itself doesn't fit the story, but the title did I thought Ms. Taylor was known as the "Queen of the Blues". Koko Taylor passed away in June of 2009 at the age of 80.


	17. Candles

**Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. I'm not making a buck here. DPB et al. are doing that.**

**Authors Note: **so, Mother Nature again graced the great Garden State with snow. This makes about eighteen inches so far this year (you can stop now MN). Bad for me, but good for you. This chapter came to me while I was digging out. When I first started this story, it was going to be a collection of things that needed a little further explanation. I kinda got away from that over time. So this chapter is an attempt to get back to the original intent of what I was doing. It's shorter than some of the other chapters, but I hope you like it anyway. Oh yes, there's a little bit of Kibbs if ya squint hard.

**Spoilers: **Small ones for 'A Weak Link' and 'Yankee White'. I know when I first watched 'A Weak Link', like Kate I wondered who he was lighting the candles for. Of course we now know it was for Shannon and Kelly. But at that time it was a mystery. I didn't remember the name of the church, so I made it up.

**St. Thomas Roman Catholic Church**

Senior Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs noticed the candle stand to the right of the altar. He and Special Agent Kate Todd were in the church talking to Father Larry Clannon. Father Clannon was a close friend of their murder victim, Lt. Johnson. Kate had a rapport with the priest right from the start so Gibbs was content with her running the interview. The flickering candles again captured Gibbs' attention.

_C'mon Jethro, focus._

This interview was a try at shaking something loose. The investigation was dead ending and they were under a deadline. Kate was doing a good job drawing out the father, so Gibbs started woolgathering.

Shannon always loved going to church. They'd get up every Sunday that Gibbs wasn't deployed and go. Then they'd go to breakfast. Once Kelly was born they'd still go to church, but go home for breakfast. After their murders, Gibbs stopped going to church. When he'd come back to the States after being in a coma, a Navy chaplain met him prior to his going to see Shannon and Kelly's graves. Father Nick did his best, but the grief stricken Gunny wasn't buying. This was probably the first time Gibbs was in a church in a very long time.

The interview closed out when Father Clannon needed to take care of some church business. Gibbs found himself walking to the candle stand. He looked down at the flickering votives.

_I miss both you guys so much._

Jethro stuck his hand in his right pants pocket, pulling out his Zippo. His former CO, Colonel Ryan gave it to him at the end of their South American deployment. On one side of the casing was the Marine Corps Eagle, Globe and Anchor. On the other was a stylized ghost with bloody fangs. As Gibbs worked the igniter wheel, he could feel Kate staring at his back.

_One more thing for her to puzzle over._

Ever since meeting Kate Todd on Air Force One, there'd been by-play between the two. Since he wasn't a monk, Gibbs would be the first to tell you he was attracted to the woman. But, Rule Twelve was in play.

_And it's there for a very good reason._

The Zippo ignited and Gibbs lit two candles.

Kate Todd was a little surprised when Gibbs let her take the lead speaking to Father Clannon. Since joining NCIS she could count on the thumbs of one hand the number of times her team leader deferred to her.

_If you looked up 'alpha male' in the dictionary, Gibbs' picture'd be right there._

When Father Clannon left, Kate turned to walk out. She'd only taken a couple of steps when she realized Gibbs went in the opposite direction. Kate turned and watched Gibbs stop in front of the candles to the right of the altar. She watched him pull a lighter from his pants pocket.

_Funny, I didn't know he smoked._

Just one more anomaly in the enigma that was Senior Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Since she was a profiler by trade, Gibbs disturbed Kate Todd. The man was an enigma and Kate hated that she couldn't get a handle on him. Since threatening to shoot him on Air Force One, to his hiring her after she resigned from the Secret Service, Gibbs was the one person she could not easily read. That bothered her. A lot.

Kate watched as Gibbs paused and then lit two candles. He spun on his heels and as he came even with her, she couldn't resist.

"Who was that for?"

The glare she got in return told her she'd never know.

**A/N: **Kind of short I know, but hey, blame my muse. It was _her _Idea. I just write 'em. On a side note, this Sunday, my Jets have a tough assignment. The Pats at home, for the AFC East Championship. LET'S GO JETS! I'm out.


	18. Authors Note

**Disclaimer: Since there is no story, no disclaimer is needed. However, read on anyway.**

To anybody who started to read this expecting some kind of important news, I apologize. No important news, but I need to say this:

_**THE NY JETS, **__**MY NY JETS,**__** ARE ONE GAME AWAY FROM THE AFC CHAMPIONSHIP BECAUSE WE BEAT TOM BRADY AND THE DOG-ASS NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS **__**IN THEIR OWN HOUSE!**_ That's it folks, flames gratefully accepted. I'm out.

**ltjvt1026**


	19. Things Have Changed

**Disclaimer: I do not own NCIS. Bob Dylan wrote and sang "Things Have Changed", I'm just borrowin' it for the moment. He can have it back unharmed.**

**Authors Note: **So I was listening to the first NCIS soundtrack album at work. "Things Have Changed "came on and this story resulted. The song is from the episode "Sharif Returns".

**Spoilers: **Reunion, Judgment Day and the episode where the domestic terrorists blew up the softball game.

_**A worried man with a worried mind No one in front of me and nothing behind There's a woman on my lap and she's drinking champagne Got white skin, got assassins eyes I'm looking up into the sapphire tinted skies…**_

The MCRT just cleared a monster case. It took a week and every member made a contribution. Their boss, Senior Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs convinced the Director to give the team forty eight hours off. Since it was spring and the evenings were warming up, Abby decided they'd have a party to celebrate. Ducky provided the venue, his backyard, and each team member brought something. The food was awesome and booze was flowing as the team unwound.

Senior Field Agent Anthony 'Tony' DiNozzo was sprawled in a chair a little apart from the main gathering. In his hand was a glass containing three fingers of Laphroaig. He'd already had several so he was taking it easy with this one. Tony watched as his teammates let the stress of the case melt away.

Gibbs and Ducky were sitting with a chess board between them drinking Bass Ale. McGee, Abby and Palmer were drinking Coors Light and speaking in techno babble that Tony could barely hear.

DiNozzo frowned as he looked around for the last member of the team, his partner, Ziva David.

_Figures. The ninja is the one I can't see._

"Why are you sitting by yourself Tony?"

The words coming quietly from his left rear almost caused DiNozzo to spill his scotch when he jumped. Tony craned his neck around, glaring at his partner.

"Damn Zee-vah, can't you at least make a _little _noise when you walk up behind friendlies?"

"Just trying to keep you on your toes, my little hairy butt."

"Well, thanks for that."

Ziva smirked and walked around to stand in front of Tony. She was wearing a maroon tube top and black skinny jeans. In her left hand was a champagne glass. In her right, held by the neck was a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. It was three quarters empty.

"You still have not said why you are off by yourself."

Tony gestured to the team.

"Ducky and the Boss are playing chess. The 'geeks ', as far as I can tell are talkin' tech."

Ziva smirked again.

"And Dinozzo…?"

"Is just chillin'."

Ziva laughed.

"May I sit?"

Tony sat up and looked around. There was no other chair in sight.

"Uh…"

Ziva looked pointedly at Tony's lap.

"Oh. Sure."

Ziva gracefully folded herself onto Tony's lap, leaving the bottle at their feet. She took a sip of champagne.

"It feels good to unwind, yes?"

Tony wasn't sure what to feel, but unwound was definitely not it. The maroon of his partner's top set off the white skin of her shoulders. The champagne gave her eyes a gleam he hasn't seen in a while. Tony leaned his head back looking up into the night sky before replying.

_Maybe things can get back to normal after all._

_**Standing on the gallows with my head in a noose Any minute now I'm expecting all hell to break loose...**_

He had a plan. A good plan. At least it looked good back in DC. Now however, not so much. He was wire tied to a chair. Saleem's 'happy juice' was coursing through his veins. McGee was on the floor, beat up and almost killed by the aforementioned Mr. Ulman.

_And oh yes, his ex-partner is back from the dead._

When Saleem yanked the hood off her head, he'd damn near passed out.

_Never saw __**that**__ coming._

Tony'd come to Somalia to kill Saleem to avenge his partner.

_Well, that part of the plan was out the window. Window. Right, I gotta get him set up in the window._

Saleem was leaning toward Tony.

DiNozzo looked up and grinned.

"Remember when I told you my boss was a sniper?"

Saleem recoiled, straightening, his eyes going wide.

_Bye-bye scumbag!_

There was the sound of glass breaking, immediately followed by the thump of a high velocity rifle round hitting flesh. Outside the room, the sounds of two SEAL platoons 'going loud' reverberated.

_Time to go home._

_**This place ain't doing me any good I'm in the wrong town, I should be in Hollywood Just for a second there I thought I saw something move..**_

When Tony and Ziva entered the diner, the first thing that hit Tony was the coppery smell of fresh blood and the faint tang of gunpowder permeating the hot still air. They cleared the room quickly. The occupants were all dead. Then Ziva called his name in a soft strangling voice from the other side of the room. He walked over and looked down.

"Jesus H Christ!"

_Oh My God. What the hell am I gonna tell Gibbs._

Tony rolled his shoulders and looked at his partner. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears. He looked down again at the face of Jenny Shepard.

_We shouldn't be here in this diner in some dot on the map. We should be back cruisin' in Hollywood. And Jenny definitely shouldn't be dead._

The Director's cell started ringing. The screen flashed, "GIBBS".

_**Feel like falling in love with the first woman I meet Putting her in a wheelbarrow and wheeling her down the street**_

_The sun was shining brightly and Tony DiNozzo was dressed for work in his favorite Armani suit. He was pushing a wheelbarrow down Sicard St. in front of NCIS headquarters. Ahead he could see a dark haired woman facing away from him. She was wearing a backless blue dress. As he got closer the woman turned. It was his partner, Ziva David._

"_Tony?"_

_By this time DiNozzo was next to her. He let the wheelbarrow down and smiled._

"_Hey, sweetcheeks."_

_Tony gently picked up his partner bridal style and placed her in the wheelbarrow. Tony grabbed the handles and started moving down the street. Ziva looked up amusedly._

"_Where are we going?"_

_Tony looked down._

"_I don't know."_

Tony's eyes snapped open and he tried to sit up. Bad move. The pain from his side caused him to gasp. Then he realized where he was. Bethesda. He'd been shot in the side attempting an arrest. His gasp woke up Abby, who'd been sitting next to his bedside.

"Are you okay Tony?"

DiNozzo looked at his Goth friend. His voice was a little rusty.

"Yeah Abs. But I'm gonna have to talk to the doc to get him to cut down the pain meds. I just had the weirdest dream."

_**I hurt easy, I just don't show it You can hurt someone and not even know it The next sixty seconds could be like an eternity…**_

Things were better between the partners. The easy banter returned. Tony DiNozzo and Ziva David were recovering their pre-Somalia form. It wasn't all better, but it was close. Then she saved his ass at the softball game bombing.

_Actually she hit me like a linebacker for the Chicago Bears._

That was why they were sitting in a back booth at Charlie's Bar. After Ziva and Gibbs had their little pitch and catch, Tony convinced her to come to Charlie's. Miami mystery man be damned. Tony was going to do something he thought he would never do again. He was going to lay himself open. That's right; he was going to say those three little words. The look on her face as they'd been laying on each other after the explosion was what convinced him. So, he'd just done it, said those three words.

_I'll give her a minute. Sixty seconds. Should be enough, it would be enough for me._

At the fifty five second mark, DiNozzo was starting to worry. She finally lifted her head.

"Tony…"

**A/N: **I know, I know. Cruel huh. Well it gives everybody a chance to end things the way they want. TIVA fans can have their ending and DiNozzo haters can have theirs. I didn't use all the lyrics, mostly 'cause I couldn't come up with plot for 'em. This is another one of those stories I wasn't sure of after I wrote it. So cut me a huss and give a guy a review. C'mon, you know you want to.


	20. You Can't Always Get What You Want

**Disclaimer: None**

Okay, last week I came here to crow. This week, I'm eating it. No excuses. The better team is going to the Super Bowl. We had a good run but came up short for the second year in a row. I'll be remaining true to my AFL/AFC roots and be rooting for the Pittsburgh Steelers to win the Super Bowl. My only consolation is, Brady and the Pats will be watching on TV just like us. GO JETS!


	21. Even Now

**Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to **_**those **_**guys, not to me. "Even Now" is sung by Dashboard Confessional and was written by Chris Carrabba. That should take care of the legal mumbo-jumbo.**

**Authors Note: **Okay, all done with the football nonsense. Back to stories. Since people _seemed _to like "Things Have Changed", I decided to try another. Not too many Gibbs/Shannon stories out there. This one is my contribution. From "Heartland", I have deduced that when Gibbs met Shannon in the train station in Stillwater he was on leave after boot camp, before going to AIT (Advanced Individual Training). This story takes place after they've married, but before Kelly. "Even Now" was played in "Legend Pt. 1". Enjoy.

_**Even now I can smell the clothes Freshly from the wash Still hot from the dryer…**_

Sergeant Leroy Jethro Gibbs USMC was methodically folding clothes. His wife Shannon was in the kitchen of their double wide making dinner. They were in a double wide because as a junior sergeant Gibbs was way down on the waiting list for base housing. His housing allowance and some of his monthly pay covered their rent and utilities. Jethro came to be in charge of laundry because his wife was a disaster with an iron. The first time she'd tried to iron one of his khaki shirts, it wound up with an iron shaped burn mark on the front. Luckily Gibbs' enlistment came at the tail end of the time when individual Marines did their own laundry. Jethro was not unfamiliar with an iron so he did his own shirts. Besides folding clothes appealed to his sense of order and it was relaxing.

Gibbs heard his wife padding up quietly behind him. She was always trying to sneak up on him, but it never worked. He heard her stop.

"Is dinner ready Shan?"

A frustrated sigh came from behind him. Gibbs grinned as he looked over his shoulder. His wife was leaning against the doorframe, her red hair in a pony tail and a frown on her face. She was wearing cut offs and a scarlet t-shirt with gold lettering that said "Camp Follower".

"Yes Gibbs, dinner is ready."

"Great, let me finish and I'll be right there."

The frown turned into an elfin grin.

"Bet ya can't guess what we're having."

Gibbs grinned back. This was another game they played. He sniffed the air.

"Meatloaf?"

Shannon laughed and clapped her hands.

"Nope, gotcha. Pork chops."

"Okay, ya got me. Go on and I'll be there as soon as I finish up."

Shannon left and Gibbs folded the last items, the smell of freshly washed clothes still warm from the dryer making him feel content.

_**Even now I can smell your skin To wrap you in a towel And try to love you…**_

Dinner was long over. A breeze blew through the partially open window in the darkened bedroom. Gibbs ran his hands over the milky white skin of his wife. It was still damp from the shower, smelling of the strawberries and champagne body wash she used.

_How in God's name did I ever get this lucky?_

Shannon was kissing his chest and making small mewing noises as Jethro continued his ministrations. Shannon wrapped a leg around one of his and nipped at his chest, causing him to yelp.

"_Hey_, what was that for?"

"Quit teasing me. I'm goin' crazy here."

"Something you want?"

Another nip, another yelp.

"You'd better put that 'gun' to work, Marine."

"As you wish, M'lady."

_**Even now I can feel your hand Gently over mine With almost no weight at all…**_

Two months later, Shannon and Jethro were sitting in an Italian restaurant in New Carteret, NC. Dinner was over and Shannon's hand rested on her husband's as he drank his coffee. She knew what was coming.

"When?"

Gibbs looked into his wife's green eyes.

"The warning order came out this morning. Sixty days."

Shannon sighed. Deployments were a part of life, but she still hated them.

"I knew I shoulda married a lumber jack."

"That's low Shan. There is some other news though, good news."

"Such as?"

The Skipper gave me the results of the promotion boards. I'm on the list. I'm gonna make Staff Sergeant. Probably after this 'float'."

Shannon grinned widely. They put off plans for a baby until Gibbs was at least a Staff Sergeant.

"When will you know definitely?"

"The Skipper said probably not until we get back to Lejuene. He also said I should be hearing about Scout/Sniper School then too."

Shannon's grin widened even further. If Gibbs got into Scout/Sniper School, then he'd need to go to Combat Diver School and the Army Basic Airborne Course.

_No deployments for a while._

Shannon scratched the back of Gibbs' hand and gave him a sexy grin.

"Finish your coffee and let's go home."

_**Even now I can feel your face Resting on my chest Wrestling for sleep And failing at it Even now I can see you sleep I can see the dream I can see you fly And I always can find you again…**_

A full sea bag sat in the corner of the bedroom. On top was a helmet. Next to the sea bag was a fully packed ruck sack. Across the room Gibbs and Shannon were tangled together. Shannon's head was resting on his chest. Jethro was hoping his wife would go to sleep. In a few short hours he'd be leaving. Her fingers were tracing patterns on his chest.

"C'mon Shan, time to go to sleep."

"I don't wanna."

Gibbs chuckled.

"Okay, real mature there."

Shannon lifted her head and stuck out her tongue.

"Nyeh."

Gibbs wrapped his arms around her and laughed.

"Right. Well, _I'm _going to sleep."

Gibbs stilled himself and closed his eyes. Shannon stopped making lines on his chest and eventually her breathing evened out. Gibbs smiled and watched her sleep, drifting off himself….

_**And I always can find you again…**_

Gibbs' eyes snapped open. For about ten seconds he didn't know where or _when _he was. Then the NCIS agent realized he'd fallen asleep on his couch.

_Just a dream, but a nice one for a change._

He raised his arm to look at his watch. It was 0125. Officially _the day. _February 28th. Gibbs contemplated calling in sick.

_Nope, not gonna give in._

Jethro stood, his knees protesting.

_If I'd known I was going to live this long, I'da taken better care of myself._

A hot shower and some Motrin would take care of the aches. Then work, some bourbon and a new boat to build.

**A/N:** So, my first attempt at a Gibbs/Shannon story. What do you all think? Hit the review button and let me know.


	22. A Man Walks Into A Bar

**Disclaimer: NCIS is the intellectual property of its copyright owners. The only thing I own are any OC's that appear in my stories.**

**Authors Note: **I really enjoyed Tuesday's episode. I thought it was the best effort I've seen in quite a while. I didn't tumble to Dr. Cranston's identity until she was talking to Ducky. Then it clicked. They opened Ziva up a little too, which was good. Maybe _now _the writers are going to start dealing with her reactions to Somalia. Anyway, here's a tag for "A Man Walks Into A Bar". I've decided to not do a separate series of stories about Charlie's Bar, but fold them into this series where appropriate. Enjoy.

**Spoilers: **Tiny ones, I guess if you haven't seen the episode yet.

**Charlie's Bar, Present Day, 1910hrs**

NCIS Special Agent Timothy McGee pushed through the double doors of Charlie's Bar. Since it's the middle of the week the crowd was sparse. There was plenty of room at the horseshoe shaped bar. Tim walked around and dropped into a seat facing the door. The evening bartender Seamus Dolan ambled over. He swiped the bar with a rag and arched an eyebrow.

"What can I get you Timothy?"

"Harp."

"Comin' right up."

Dolan walked over to the taps and drew off a glass. He returned to Tim, placing a coaster and then the beer in front of him.

"So, where are the rest then?"

"Just me tonight Seamus."

"Really now."

McGee picked up his beer and took a sip. It was unusual for Tim to come in by himself. Charlie's was a place he came to with the team. Dolan put his foot up on a shelf under the bar, propping his upper body on his knee.

"So, what's the occasion lad?"

Tim sighed.

"A really heavy day at work."

And it had been. Talking with Dr. Cranston got Tim to thinking. They were not fun thoughts. After finishing his case related paperwork McGee sat at his desk and contemplated his personal relationships. _Female_ personal relationships.

_The track record is not good._

Talking with the doc made that painfully clear. The only person that he'd come close to having a lasting relationship was…..

_Don't go there McGee._

Abby. There, he went there. When Tim came up from Norfolk to work with Team Gibbs, Abby floored him. She was intelligent, funny, warm, and totally unlike any woman he'd ever met. They had a short intense run. Surprisingly she was the one that got cold feet. The split was semi-awkward, but they remained fast friends. McGee would occasionally try to start them back up, but Abby would shoot him down. Gently.

When the team returned from Somalia, Tim thought things might be swinging back around. After releasing Ziva from a world record hug, Abby descended on McGee, taking charge of him and getting him home. But exhaustion took over and Tim woke up the next day after sleeping the clock around to an empty apartment and the faint smell of gunpowder.

"Another Harp's boyyo?"

Dolan's voice snapped Tim back into the present. He looked down to an empty glass. He didn't even realize he'd finished it.

"Uh, sure Seamus thanks."

Dolan came back with the beer, taking up his former position.

"Female troubles McGee?"

Tim started.

"What makes you say that?"

Dolan gave a quiet laugh.

"Tim me lad, the only time you come in here solo is when someone of the fair sex has you vexed."

McGee took a sip of beer and put his chin in his hand, looking glum.

"Vexed is a good word for it."

Dolan nodded.

"I'm willing to wager that the cause of this vexation is the fair Miss Sciuto."

_How does he do that?_

Tim's thoughts must have shown on his face because Dolan chuckled.

"It's not difficult to figure lad. Herself is the only one I've noticed that can put that particular look on your face."

McGee sighed.

"I'm between the rock and the hard place here Dolan. If I push too hard, I'm afraid I'll ruin our friendship. I don't want that. But I do want to try us again. I don't know what to do."

"Ah, so it's advice you're wantin'?"

McGee thought for a second.

"I guess."

Seamus smiled.

"A faint heart ne'er won a fair maiden, lad. Sometimes you have to roll the dice."

"But what if…"

Dolan gave Tim an annoyed look.

"_L'audace, l'audace, toujours l'audace, _McGee. I may not be an MIT graduate, but even I know there comes a time you have to risk it all. Is she worth it?"

McGee nodded.

"Yes, yes she is."

"Then you have your answer Timothy."

"Thanks Dolan."

"My pleasure."

Tim sipped his beer, several minutes going by. The bartender cleared his throat. McGee looked up, raising an eyebrow.

"What?"

Dolan shook his head.

"Why are you still here McGee?"

The light bulb finally went off over McGee's head.

"You mean now?"

Seamus raised his eyes to the ceiling.

"Lord preserve me from the intelligent. Of course _now_, McGee."

Looking a little embarrassed, Tim dropped some money on the bar and hustled out. Another NCIS agent who heard the by-play looked at Dolan.

"I'd of never figured you for Cupid Seamus."

Dolan leaned in close to the other man.

"Careful I don't fetch me bow and arrow and fire one up your arse laddie."

Twenty minutes later Tim McGee was knocking on Abby's door. The door opened and there she stood. Grey sweatpants, a black 'Android Lust' t-shirt and her hair down.

"Timmy! What's up?"

McGee took a deep breath.

"Abs, can I come in? I've got something really important to say…"

**A/N: **So, there you have it. The way I see it none of these relationships are ever going to be resolved until the series ends. But it's still interesting to write about 'em.


	23. Perchance to Dream

**Disclaimer: Check previous chapters and insert your favorite **_**HERE.**_

**Authors Note: **As I said previously, I really enjoyed "A Man Walks Into A Bar". Sooo, I came up with another story, this one involving Tony. I may do one for each character, depending on how the muse moves me.

**Spoilers: Really? I have to put something here? The A/N didn't warn you enough?**

**Tony DiNozzo's apartment, Present Day, 0345hrs**

The Dream started again that night. NCIS Special Agent Anthony 'Tony' DiNozzo was surprised. Usually you go to a shrink because you're _having _dreams. Shrinks don't usually _cause _dreams. He should have picked up on it sooner. Hell, he was a _trained investigator_ after all. Dr. Rachel Cranston was Kate's _sister._ When it finally clicked in Autopsy, it was like, 'duh'. The resemblance jumped out at him. He had to walk away.

That night after the case was over he went home. Usually he was the last to leave. But not tonight. McGee was sitting at his desk staring into space.

"Hey McSlow, you going home?"

Tim started and looked up.

"Yeah Tony."

DiNozzo rolled his eyes.

"Well don't think too hard Timmy, you'll burn out your circuits."

McGee chuckled.

"Thanks for the advice."

"De nada. See you tomorrow."

With that Tony left the bullpen and went home. After showering, eating a dinner of leftover takeout, watching "To Have and Have Not", and drinking a couple of scotches, Tony went to bed.

At 0345 he was standing in his bathroom puking in the toilet, with no idea how he got there from his bed. As the last of the vomit left his mouth, he remembered.

_Gibbs he and Kate on the roof. The post firefight joking. Then, the sound of a high velocity rifle round breaking the sound barrier. Immediately followed by the sound of the same round striking flesh and bone. The spray of warm blood striking his face causing his eyes to close. Which was good, because it spared him the sight of the grapefruit-sized hole in the back of Kate's head. When his eyes opened again she was lying face up on the roof a pool of blood forming._

The damn Dream was back.

It bedeviled him back then until Ari's death. Even after that, it took some scotch self-medication to banish it totally. Now it was back in all its Technicolor glory. Tony flipped on the light and looked at himself in the bathroom mirror.

_I'm getting too old for this shit._

**Charlie's Bar, 1905hrs**

The next couple of days were hell. No cases, just paperwork. On the outside DiNozzo was his usual self. Everybody was their usual selves. Except they weren't. Tony could tell they weren't. Dredging up Kate's death affected everyone. McGee was quieter than normal. Gibbs was barking less. Ziva was, well Ziva was more somber.

Tony knew he was going to have to talk to somebody. He needed to talk to somebody. Just _who_ that somebody would be was the problem. It wasn't going to be somebody from the team. It certainly wasn't going to be the agency shrink.

_A shrink is who got me here._

When the work day was over and everybody left, Tony found himself walking out of the Yard via the North Gate. Soon he stood in front of the double doors of Charlie's.

_Well, why the hell not._

Tony pushed through the doors and walked in. Unlike other visits he did not linger by the memorial wall.

_Sorry Kate._

As DiNozzo walked up to the bar, he was glad to see Seamus Dolan working. Tony dropped onto a stool and Dolan strolled over placing a coaster in front of him.

"Well, good evening Very Special Agent DiNozzo. What can I get you?"

"The Glenlivet over ice, water back Seamus."

"Comin' up."

When the bartender returned with the drink, Tony placed his car keys on the bar and pushed them towards Dolan. Seamus raised an eyebrow.

"What's that in aid of?"

"Call me a cab when I'm done."

"Drinking on a 'school night'? What will Papa Gibbs say?"

Tony grimaced.

"Hopefully not too much. It's been a while since I pulled one of these."

"Well, it's your funeral laddie."

DiNozzo grimaced again.

_Ouch._

Business picked up, so Seamus didn't have much opportunity to talk to Tony. He was keeping track of how much Glenlivet the younger man was consuming however. Dolan was glad DiNozzo voluntarily gave up his keys at the beginning of the night. He definitely was not going to be able to drive home.

It was now several hours later, the rush ended and the bar emptied out. Seamus brought Tony his next drink. As Dolan placed the drink in front of Tony he held onto it and raised an eyebrow. Tony scowled.

"What?"

"Let me hear it lad."

DiNozzo sighed.

"The Leith Police dismisseth us."

It came out flawlessly. Seamus sighed. He was hoping Tony screwed it up so he could cut him off. No such luck. Dolan pushed the drink towards the younger man. He placed a foot on a shelf under the bar propping himself up.

"So my boy, why are you here killing brain cells at this late hour with work beckoning in the morn?"

Tony looked up from his drink.

"Did you ever lose a partner Dolan?"

It was common knowledge amongst the patrons at Charlie's that Seamus spent twenty years on the Boston PD. Dolan's eyes closed and a few seconds later opened again.

"Yes, yes I did."

"Me too."

Seamus was well aware of Kate Todd's death, as he was of every agent's on the wall by the front door. Dolan took a stab.

"So, today's the day is it?"

Tony looked up, surprised.

"No, today's not the day."

Dolan raised an eyebrow.

"So?"

"Her sister came for a visit a couple of days ago. So now I'm having a dream of that day reliving the whole damn thing in living color. I had it all nicely locked away and now it's back."

Tony shook his head, looking Dolan right in the eyes.

"What the hell do I do now?"

"What did you do then?"

"Well, I helped track down the bastard that did it. He was killed. Then pretty much what I'm doing now, minus the talking to you."

"Talk away lad. That's what bartenders are for ya know."

Tony shrugged and looked around the bar.

"What about the rest of your customers?"

"If they get really thirsty, they'll holler, believe me."

Tony laughed.

"Okay…okay. The biggest thing is I never _really_ told her how I felt about her. And no, it's not _that_ way. We were more like brother and sister. Always needling one another. _Maybe _a little innuendo every once in a while. Then McGee was added and we tag teamed him. Kate was the first to let up though. Tim was like the annoying little brother."

Tony's face fell.

"Then she was dead and I never got to tell her."

Seamus shook his head.

"It's the toughest thing in the world to lose your partner. You spend more time with them than you do with your family. Add to that you save each other's asses on a weekly basis. When they're ripped away from you, it's like a piece of you died too."

Tony looked down into his glass. His voice was low and strangled.

"Her blood splattered all over my face."

Dolan blanched and looked down at his hands.

"_Hold on Billy, stay with me now."_

_Dolan pressed his hands over the wound in his partner's chest, applying direct pressure. The suspect was down, shot by Dolan. As soon as another car got there they'd load Billy in and make a speed run to Mass. General. The blood kept welling around Seamus' fingers as he pressed harder. Sirens were getting closer responding to the 10-13._

"_Hold on, the cavalry's almost here."_

_His partner looked at Dolan, the eyes becoming fixed. Seamus swore._

_When their backup arrived they found Seamus Dolan on his knees next to his dead partner, tears streaming down his face staring at his bloody hands._

"Dolan?"

Hearing his name as if it was coming from a distance, Seamus looked up.

"Sorry laddie, you were sayin'?"

Tony smiled softly.

"It's not important. Had a moment there, eh?"

Dolan shrugged.

"Yes I did."

Tony nodded.

"I know the feeling. Thanks Seamus."

Dolan shook his head.

"For what?"

"For showing me that even though you can put it behind you, it _never_ goes away. Nor should it."

Tony stood, only staggering slightly.

"Call me that cab. I'm going to hit the sack."

"Sure lad."

Thirty minutes later Tony DiNozzo was sound asleep.

Without dreams.

**A/N: **As I said at the top, I may do a couple more of these. I'd really like to know what you all thought of this one though. Especially those of you who are not the "usual suspects". Couldn't resist the 'Casablanca' reference there!


	24. Who Do Shrinks Talk To?

**Disclaimer: The following is a piece of **_**fanfiction.**_** There is NO copyright infringement intended. I'm doing this for me and anyone else who may care to read it. Oh, reviews would be nice too (hint, hint).**

**Authors Note: **I'm continuing my arc from "A Man Walks Into A Bar". I've seen your requests and I will get to them. This one is Rachel. **USAFChief **suggested Ziva and Rachel, but I couldn't get that to work. Anyhoo, on with the story.

**Spoilers: **Well, duh. Oh, and a small one for "Heart Break", Season 2 Episode 8.

**NCIS HQ, Present Day, 1815hrs**

Dr. Rachel Cranston knew that coming to NCIS was a bad idea. She'd done it anyway. Through some connections at the Department of the Navy, Rachel was given the job of evaluating the MCRT's at NCIS HQ. Really there was only one team she'd been interested in. The team belonging to Senior Supervisory Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs. The team her sister Caitlin 'Kate' Todd was working on when she was killed in the line of duty.

It was an intense few days and after it was over, Rachel could see why Kate loved working at NCIS. Each member of the team was pretty much as her sister described them. And it was obvious that they loved and missed Kate very much. Rachel finally got a sense of closure. That was due in no small part to Agent Gibbs. When Rachel stood in the basement of Gibbs' house in the very spot Kate's killer had been killed, it was disturbing and comforting all at the same time. She also saw why Kate was attracted to the man. Back then she'd played it off. But Rachel remembered how Kate's voice would change when she talked about Gibbs versus say, Tony. But now the job was over. Time to walk away. Rachel chuckled to herself.

_Only a few days of being exposed to Gibbs and I'm already spouting his 'rules'._

Except she couldn't just walk away. There were three other teams to evaluate. Hopefully they'd be easy and she could get away with minimum or no contact with Team Gibbs. Since she was staying a while, NCIS put her up at the Navy Lodge. That was where she was going when she walked out of the North Gate of the Navy Yard. Rachel turned in the direction of the Lodge, but stopped. Did she really want to sit in that beige colored box and watch TV until she was tired enough to go to sleep?

_Not really._

The desk clerk at the Lodge mentioned a place called Charlie's Bar.

_Has to be better than sitting and watching TV until I go into a coma._

**Charlie's Bar, 1830hrs**

A couple of blocks later Rachel was standing in front of the double doors of the bar. After a few moments of hesitation she entered. Charlie's was moderately busy. The initial quitting time rush was over and the evening drinking crowd hadn't filtered in yet. Upon entering Rachel saw the memorial wall by the entrance and stopped. The top half contained pictures of Metro PD officers in uniform and plainclothes. The bottom half was NCIS agents. Not surprisingly Rachel saw a picture of her sister. It was an ID picture, the so-called 'funeral shot' and not very flattering. Under the pictures was a small table with a votive candle burning. Next to the candle was a small card. Rachel leaned down to read it.

"**If the candle is out, see the bartender."**

Straitening Rachel moved to find a place at the horseshoe-shaped bar. There was a seat at the apex, so she sat. Seeing her sit, the bartender approached.

_Not bad looking._

He was medium height, early to mid sixties, red hair streaked with some grey and green eyes. He was wearing a white long sleeved shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a black skinny tie tucked into the shirt at the third button. There was a white apron tied around his waist. He smiled and placed a coaster in front of Rachel.

"What can I get you Miss?"

_Boston Irish, interesting._

"A Manhattan, please."

"Comin' right up."

When the bartender returned with the drink and placed it on the coaster, Rachel noticed a circular tattoo on his forearm. It was faded, but still legible. There was a skull with red eyes topped with a conical hat. The words _'Mekong Delta Yacht Club' _circled the skull.

"Here ya go Miss."

"Thanks. So what's a Boston boy doing in DC?"

The bartender laughed.

"When I left Boston, I went to Florida. But the climate reminded me too much of some unpleasant memories. So I worked my way back up the East Coast and stopped here."

A call came from the left.

"Hey Seamus, I'm dying of thirst over here."

"Excuse me Miss, I've a dyin' man to attend to."

Seamus bustled away and Rachel sipped her drink. She wasn't that much of a drinker, so it was a while before Seamus returned.

"Another Miss?"

"Yes please. And call me Rachel, Seamus."

"Rachel it is then."

Seamus returned and placed the drink on the bar.

"So, have you been recently assigned here?"

Rachel raised an eyebrow and Seamus continued.

"I know all the locals that come in here and most of the people assigned to the Yard. You're a new face."

Rachel nodded.

"Just passing through. I'm an outside contractor. The Dept. of the Navy hired me to evaluate personnel at NCIS. I'll be gone in ten days or so."

Twenty years of police work kept Seamus' face neutral

_This must be the shrink that turned Team Gibbs inside out._

"Does that mean I'll have the pleasure of your company during that time?"

"Probably. It beats sitting in that beige box watching TV at the Navy Lodge."

Dolan smiled.

"Aye, it does that."

More calls for drinks from down the bar drew Seamus away. Rachel sipped her drink.

_When I mentioned working at NCIS, 'ol Seamus' face blanked out. I bet he knows what I was doing. I wonder if he knew Kate._

The rush calmed and Seamus returned to Rachel.

"Another?"

"No Seamus, I'm good. I have a question though."

"Fire away."

"If the candle on the table burns out, why do I have to see you?"

"That's easy darlin'. In memory of our departed brothers and sisters we keep a candle burning. If it goes out you buy one from me for a buck. At the end of the year, the money we collect goes to a law enforcement or military charity."

"You said 'our'. Were you in law enforcement?"

"Aye, twenty years 'in the bag' workin' for Boston PD."

"In the bag?"

"That's what we called working in uniform."

"So then you retired went to Florida and wound up here in DC?"

"Aye."

"How long have you been working here?"

"Oh, about ten years or so, why?"

Rachel took a breath.

_$64,000.00 question time._

"Did you know my sister?"

"And who might she be?"

"Kate Todd."

In his head, Seamus finally connected the dots.

_Didn't see that comin' did ya boyyo. Tread carefully._

"Yes, I knew her."

Rachel raised an eyebrow.

"And…?"

"She came in here some. Mostly with Abby, the forensic tech. Occasionally with the team. Once by herself."

"By herself?"

Seamus looked uncomfortable.

"Yah, she came in late, by herself. Looked really upset. Started knocking back scotch like they were gonna stop makin' it the next day."

"Why?"

"Rachel, it was a while ago and I don't…"

"C'mon Seamus, spill."

Dolan sighed.

"Are you familiar with the term 'suicide by cop'?"

"Of course. Wait, it happened to Kate?"

"Yes it did. A young Navy Ensign was a suspect in a homicide. He was despondent, couldn't work up the guts to kill himself. He put Kate in a situation where she had to pull the trigger. Turns out he wasn't involved in the homicide at all."

Rachel blanched.

"Oh my God. She never told me."

Seamus gave her a 'duh' look.

"Not exactly something a pro like Kate would want to share. Especially not with her sister the shrink."

Rachel looked at Dolan.

"Yeah Doc, I figured it out."

"Sorry, I guess I should have said."

"Phffft. No worries."

Seamus gestured at her glass.

"Another?"

"Yes."

When Seamus returned with the drink, he continued.

"Kate was really devastated. She went on and on about how she should have been able to end it differently. I got her to go over the whole thing with me. The kid left her no choice. She stayed 'til closing and I had to drive her home."

Rachel gripped her glass hard.

"Thanks for sharing that with me. And thanks for helping Kate. Now, I want to tell you something I've only told one other person. I never went to Kate's funeral."

Seamus' face registered shock.

"Why not lass?"

Before Rachel could answer, a voice came from down the bar.

"Hey Dolan, stop tryin' to pick up chicks and serve some drinks."

Seamus spun around glaring.

"Shut your pie hole, you. I'll serve you your drink when I'm good an' goddamn ready."

Seamus turned back to Rachel.

"Sorry darlin'. So why didn't you go?"

"I just couldn't. She was the baby. We were all supposed to protect her, to look out for her. And we didn't, _I didn't._"

"Well lass, she was a big girl. Protecting the President, working for NCIS. What were you supposed to do?"

"That's just it. I don't know. Something, anything."

Seamus sighed.

"Did talking to Team Gibbs help?"

"Yes, yes it did. They obviously cared a lot for Kate and still do. So yes, it's helped a lot."

The clamor from down the bar increased.

"I'll be back."

While Seamus was gone, Rachel finished her drink.

_Time to switch to club soda. It's a long walk to the Navy Lodge._

Seamus returned bearing a club soda. Rachel smiled.

"Do you read minds?"

"Nah, but it's a long walk to the Lodge. When you're ready, Tommy from the kitchen'll walk you back."

Rachel looked at Seamus.

"Would you mind if I stayed 'til closing? Then maybe you could walk me."

Dolan raised an eyebrow.

"Sure Rachel, I'd be glad to."

**A/N: **Not sure who's coming next. Ziva I think. We'll see. Hope you enjoyed it. If you did, or even if you didn't, how 'bout a review? Would it help if I said please? Please?


	25. What's In A Name?

**Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies. We all know the deal don't we? I don't need to say anything further do I? If you're new here check out the previous chapters and read your favorite.**

**Authors Note: **So, I worked a twelve hour tour today which means I had time to write. This is Ziva's chapter for "A Man Walks Into A Bar". I approached this chapter with some trepidation. I don't feel I write female characters especially well. So I'm looking for some solid concrit here. Feel free to whale away.

**Spoilers: **A small one for "Kill Ari I & II", and naturally AMWIAB.

**NCIS HQ, the Bullpen, 1900hrs.**

NCIS Probationary Special Agent Ziva David was putting the finishing touches on her case notes. The bullpen was dark, the only illumination coming from her desk lamp and the lamp of her boss, Leroy Jethro Gibbs. From the corner of her eye, she could see Gibbs shutting down his computer.

_This was good; it means he'll be leaving soon._

Gibbs stood and stretched, his back popping loudly. He groaned in pleasure and Ziva gave a little smirk.

_You're getting old Gibbs._

She heard his drawer open and he slipped his holstered pistol onto his belt. Gibbs walked from behind his desk and stopped at Ziva's.

"You plan on going home David?"

Ziva looked up into the piercing blue eyes of her team leader.

"Just finishing up some case notes Gibbs. Then I'll be going."

"Okay. You all right? You've been kinda quiet the last couple of days."

"I am fine Gibbs."

Jethro smirked.

"You sound more like DiNozzo there."

Ziva chuckled.

"God forbid."

Gibbs smiled.

"Well, wrap it up Ziver; you've been hitting it pretty hard lately. Go home and get some rest."

Gibbs turned on his heel and headed for the elevator. Ziva sighed and sat back as she heard the elevator ding and the doors slide open and then closed. She closed out her paper work and shut down her computer. Ziva slowly looked around the silent bullpen. Since talking to Dr. Cranston she'd had vague feelings of dread. Ziva stood abruptly and started to gather up her things.

_Maybe it has something to do with talking to the sister of the woman your brother killed._

As soon as Dr. Cranston introduced herself, Ziva knew who she was. Not surprising since when still working for Mossad as her brother Ari's handler, she'd profiled every member of Team Gibbs. It was one of the reasons Ziva had opened up to the doctor a little. They had the loss of siblings in common. Ziva'd been tempted to seek Rachel out and really talk to her about Kate and Ari and the whole situation. However, her own reticence buttressed by years of being an intelligence officer assured that the idea was stillborn. Ziva moved to the elevator taking it to the ground floor. Waving to the night security officer, she went to her car. After placing her backpack in the trunk, Ziva stood and looked around.

_Now what?_

Ziva did not feel like going home. But, her options were limited. Tony and McGee were at a Georgetown basketball game. Abby was bowling with the nuns. The Goth tried to recruit Ziva but she'd politely declined. Now she sorry she did. Without thinking, Ziva found her feet taking her toward the North Gate of the Navy Yard.

**Charlie's Bar, 1920hrs.**

It was a slow night at Charlie's. Both the Hoyas and the Wizards were playing at home. Seamus Dolan was methodically working his way around the bar, cleaning it for the second time. There were only three people sitting at the bar, none of them regulars. Most of the action tonight was in the rear seating area where the 55 inch flat screen was showing the Georgetown game. Every five minutes or so a waitress would come to the service bar with a drink order. Seamus heard the double doors open, announcing the entrance of a new customer. Dolan looked over his shoulder.

_Well now, here's something that you don't see often._

Ziva David entered Charlie's noting the scarcity of patrons at the bar and the fact that Seamus Dolan was the evening bartender. Dolan was her favorite; he made a mean mojito. Ziva rounded the bar, taking a seat facing the door. Seamus walked over placing a coaster in front of her.

"And what can I get for you this evenin' Ms. David?"

"A mojito please."

"Comin' right up."

Dolan walked away to make the drink. Ziva played with her coaster. Of all of Team Gibbs, Dolan was formal only with Ziva.

_It's probably because he only sees me with the team. This is only the second time I've been in here by myself._

Seamus returned, placing the drink on the bar with his left hand. Ziva noticed a faded tattoo in the middle of his forearm, _SAT CONG. _It was not the same quality as the tattoo on his right forearm, looking like it was done by an amateur. Deciding it would be a good icebreaker, Ziva spoke.

"That is an interesting tattoo. Vietnamese, isn't it?"

Looking surprised, Dolan shrugged.

"It is indeed."

"What does it mean?"

Seamus smiled.

"Kill Communists."

Ziva knew from talking to Gibbs that Dolan served in the Navy in Vietnam. He'd been a gunner on a patrol boat in the Mekong Delta.

"It does not look professionally done."

Seamus laughed.

"Anything but."

Like any Irishman, Dolan loved to tell a story, so her propped a foot on the underside of the bar and leaned towards Ziva smiling.

"Care to hear about it?"

Ziva smiled back.

"Sure."

"Well, in the Mekong Delta, my boat unit worked with the SEALS, 9th Infantry Division and the Vietnamese Navy Junk Force. One day a Viet junk got into trouble and my boat bailed 'em out. That night my crew and theirs got drunk on home brewed rice wine. During the festivities, it was decided as a gesture of solidarity our crew would get 'SAT CONG' tats. Luckily our unit's corpsman was along, so he made sure that everything was sterile. This Viet Chief who looked old enough to have served with Noah on the Ark did the honors using a big ass straight pin and the ink from a dozen broken open ballpoint pens."

Ziva's eyes widened.

"How badly did it hurt?"

Dolan laughed.

"Dunno. Right after I told 'em I wanted it on me forearm, I passed out from the rice wine. Never felt a thing. When I woke up, I had me a tattoo. The other was done in Saigon by a pro on Tu Do Street. Now I have a question for you. What brings you here all by your lonesome?"

"I don't really know. I just didn't feel like going home."

"Fair enough then. When you're ready for another mojito, just gimmie a wave."

Dolan moved away down the bar and Ziva sipped her drink. She knew she wanted to talk to somebody, but was reluctant to. She hated leaning on people. Lost in thought she finished her drink and pushed the empty glass away. Catching the movement, Dolan built Ziva another drink and brought it down.

"Here ya go lass."

"Thank you Dolan. May I ask you a question?"

Seamus made a 'go ahead' gesture.

"Why don't you call me by my first name like you do the others?"

Dolan shrugged.

"That's easy. You don't exactly encourage familiarity. I don't become familiar with a customer unless I'm invited. This is only the second time you've been in here by yourself and really the first we've had a conversation."

Ziva nodded. It was true.

"So if I said 'call me Ziva'…"

"I'd be glad to…Ziva."

Ziva David grinned widely.

_I just may have found someone I can talk to_

"Dolan, I think this could be the start of a beautiful friendship."

Seamus guffawed.

"You've been spending too much time with DiNozzo!"

**A/N: **The last couple of episodes, I noticed that Ziva's come up with some movie quotes. Maybe Friday movie nights have returned. For all you TIVA fans out there, I certainly hope so. Have a good week.


	26. Fine

**Disclaimer: Any and all copyrighted material used in the production of this piece of fan fiction is the sole property of its creator. The only thing **_**I own**_ **is my OC Seamus Dolan.**

**Authors Note: **Worked an overnight last night. So naturally a story was written. Got to fight off the boredom somehow. I'm continuing my AMWIAB arc with Abby's story. Thanks to everyone who reviewed Ziva's story and convinced me I was _really_ 'getting' writing female. McGee's chapter is referred to in this chapter so you may want to go back and read that. Or not. Up to you. Enjoy.

**Charlie's Bar 1115hrs**

NCIS forensic tech, Abby Sciuto wheeled her fire engine red '31 Ford coupe hotrod into the small parking lot next to Charlie's Bar. It was a sunny Saturday morning in DC. This morning, rather than her signature Goth look, Abby was dressed in jeans and an LSU sweatshirt. She quickly crossed the parking lot, pigtails swinging in time to her steps. Rounding the building Abby pushed through the double doors, entering Charlie's. She stopped just inside the door letting her eyes adjust from the brightness outside to the dimmer interior. Abby smiled when she saw Seamus Dolan behind the bar drinking a cup of coffee and perusing the _Daily Racing Form_. He was the reason she was here.

This was Seamus' 'short swing'. He closed the bar Friday night and opened Saturday morning, working until three pm. Then he was off Sunday and Monday. Abby walked to the bar and climbed up onto a stool. Dolan placed the paper on the bar, leaving it folded open. He walked over to Abby, coffee in hand.

"Well, a pleasant sight on a Saturday mornin' I must say. What can I get you Abby darlin'?"

Abby motioned to the cup in Seamus' hand.

"A coffee will be fine Dolan."

"Comin' right up."

Seamus walked to the service bar where the coffee maker sat. He poured a cup and brought it back to the young woman, placing it on a coaster.

"Cream and sugar?"

Taking a sip, Abby shook her head.

"No thanks. Sumatran isn't it?"

"Aye."

"It's good."

Dolan smiled, took a sip of his own coffee and set the cup on the bar. Abby thought she could smell the slight odor of rum rising in the steam from the cup. She raised an eyebrow at the bartender. Dolan gave her a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

"Just a little, to keep the chill off. So, you could have gotten coffee anywhere, what brings you to my workplace this fine morning?"

Abby grinned cheekily, her green eyes sparkling in the dim light.

"You do."

His face staying impassive, Dolan's brain went into overdrive.

_What's this in aid of then._

"All right lass, I'll bite, why me?"

"'Cause a couple of nights ago McGee came to my place, all serious wanting to talk about us, our relationship. Which was totally cute by the way."

Dolan smiled.

_Good on you McGee._

"So what did he say? And more to the point, what did _you _say?"

Abby's face grew serious.

"He said he wanted to try us again, as, you know, a couple. I started to let him down easy, like I always do. He wouldn't take no for an answer though. Got all feisty, which was also totally cute. He said he was willing to risk losing our friendship 'cause he really wanted us to be together. He's never said that before. He's always caved. I asked him when he got so bold, and he said a _friend_ convinced him to go for it. I know it wasn't Tony or Ziva, and he'd _never _go to the Bossman, so that left just one suspect."

Abby looked pointedly at the bartender. Seamus raised an eyebrow.

"And you said…."

"After I got over the fact that he was not going to let it go and really wanted an answer, I said okay."

Seamus folded his arms across his chest.

"Why do I sense a 'but' here?"

Abby sighed.

" 'Cause I'm scared shitless I'm gonna eff this up somehow."

"C'mon darlin'. McGee's willing to risk all. Time for Abby to do the same."

"An' that's why I'm here. I finally wormed out of Timmy that he talked to you, which is why he came to see me. So now _I'm _talking to you, hoping you'll be able to convince me I'm doing the right thing."

Dolan smiled sympathetically and shook his head.

"Well hit me in the ass and call me Ann Landers. Abby, I'm just a bartender. I lend an ear and people come to their own conclusions. This is something _you _have to figure out. I don't know why you've got commitment issues, even better, I don't want to know. What I _do _know is that you really care for the lad. Time to face it."

Abby's face grew long.

"I know, I know. But I get the awful feeling that things are gonna end badly."

"They very well may Abs, but there's only one way to find out."

Abby smiled ruefully.

"I'm gonna have to go out on the high wire without a net huh?"

Seamus nodded.

"Afraid so lass. If you crash and burn, at least you tried. And you and McGee can move on."

"But what if he hates me?"

"Ah, Abs, McGee could never hate you."

"Even if I break his heart?"

"I think Timothy is a lot tougher than you're giving him credit for."

"I hope you're right Dolan."

Seamus smiled and gestured to Abby's cup.

"I think I am. Another coffee?"

"No thanks."

Abby checks the time on a clock behind the bar.

"Gosh, I gotta get going. Ziva and I are going to the mall to get some shopping and girl time in. Her friend Ray is coming for a visit."

Dolan smiled.

"Well, get along then. And don't worry; you and McGee will be fine."

Abby laughed.

"You do know the definition of 'fine' don't you Dolan?"

Seamus looked confused.

"Ahh, I think…"

Abby laughed again.

"_**F**_reaked out, _**I**_nsecure, _**N**_eurotic, and _**E**_motional."

Now it was Dolan's turn to laugh.

"I walked into that one. Be off with you Abby Scuito."

Abby leaned across the bar and hugged Seamus.

"Okay, thanks Seamus."

As she turned and walked out of Charlie's Abby felt a lot better about the upcoming drama of her new relationship with Tim McGee.

**A/N: **So, now I've only got two left to do and this arc will be complete. I want to thank everyone who's been reading these chapters based on "A Man Walks Into A Bar". I especially want to thank those of you who reviewed. Your concrit is most welcome. And an extra special thanks to "the usual suspects", you guys are why I do this. Ciao.


	27. Two Guys Talking Shop

**Disclaimer: See the previous chapters for the usual legal mumbo-jumbo**

**Authors Note: **Got called into work unexpectedly Thursday night. Sooo, Gibbs' chapter for AMWIAB got written. It took a while, 'cause the man is so self- contained I had a hard time seeing him spill his guts to a bartender. This may seem a little OOC, I don't know, you guys can be the judge. Since I'm working the weekend, Ducky's chapter will probably get written also, which will finish this arc. For those of you who may be interested, I haven't stopped writing Mike Franks stories, this arc sorta took over my brain and I haven't had any Mike thoughts for a while. I'm sure that will change.

**Spoilers: **Really?

**MCRT Bullpen, NCIS HQ, 0045hrs.**

The floor was dark except for a pool of light covering the desk of Senior Supervisory Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Gibbs was going over his agent's case reports. The reports were hard copies. He liked printed copies he could mark up and leave for the team to correct. Instead of spell check there was a Webster's College Dictionary near his left elbow. Gibbs closed the last folder taking off his reading glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. He'd drop the three folders on his way out. Noting the time on the computer as he powered it off Jethro sat back.

_Home or a couple of pops at Charlie's?_

As tempting as the prospect of solitude was, his silent basement with its waiting project held little attraction for him this evening.

_Charlie's then I guess._

Raising his arms, he steepled his fingers in front of his face.

_Been a helluva six to eight months. And the last ten days, having Kate's sister around is sorta the cherry on top. Hard to keep the lid closed with her poking around._

Dr. Rachel Cranston's arrival and subsequent interaction with the team opened old wounds and brought painful memories back to the fore. But, out of it apparently some good came. Jethro noticed that McGee and Abby seemed to be as close if not closer than they'd been when Tim was first up from Norfolk.

_I may have to have a little 'fatherly' talk with McGee._

That thought brought a small smile to Gibbs' face. Even though McGee has matured and grown into a competent agent, talking with Gibbs one on one about a serious subject made him stutter and sweat as if he was still a rookie. And any relationship he _may_ be having with Abby was a serious subject indeed. Technically Rule 12 was not really an issue, since Abby was not a field agent. Gibbs gave an amused grunt.

_Who're you kidding Leroy, she's your 'favorite'. You'd stretch Rule 12 'til it broke for her._

With that thought, Gibbs stood grabbed his holstered weapon from his drawer and snapped off his light. He rolled his shoulders and twisted his back, various snapping and popping noises echoing slightly in the silent bullpen. On his way to the elevator he dropped a folder on each team member's desk.

_Now for that drink._

**Charlie's Bar, 0100hrs.**

Fifteen minutes later, Gibbs pushed through the double doors of Charlie's. Seamus Dolan, the evening bartender was making his way around the bar, wiping it down. Jethro walked around the horseshoe, taking a stool facing the door. Seamus left his towel and ambled over, placing a coaster in front of Jethro.

"Evening Gibbs. What'll it be?"

"Black Label Seamus."

"On the way."

Dolan walked away to make the drink. Gibbs glanced around. There were about six people left and as last call got closer the number would further dwindle. Seamus returned and placed the bourbon on the coaster in front of Gibbs.

"Workin' late Jethro?"

"Yeah, hadda wrestle the paperwork into submission."

"That's one thing I do not miss about the Job."

It always struck Gibbs that only cops from the New York and Boston metropolitan area called police work 'the Job'. He snorted.

"You uniformed guys only fill out crime reports, that's not paperwork."

Dolan snorted in return.

"Ah, you plainclothes prima donnas always complain you're 'swamped with paperwork'. You should try doin' fifty or sixty radio runs a night."

As the two men debated the question of who had the greater burden, the bar emptied. Tommy the swamper from the kitchen came out and locked the front doors.

"Hey Seamus, closin' time man."

Dolan looked up.

"All right Tommy, I'll let him out the front and then lock up. Go on home."

Tommy gave a wave and headed back to the kitchen. Seamus took Gibbs' glass and walked to the service bar. He poured the drink in a coffee mug and came back placing the mug in front of Gibbs.

"That'll hold the ABC (Alcoholic Beverage Control) boys if someone sees's us."

"I'll drink up and hit the road Seamus."

Jethro considered why he stopped into Charlie's as he sipped the rest of the bourbon in his mug.

_Because all the macho b.s. aside, you wanted to talk to somebody, not sit by yourself in a basement._

"Hey Dolan."

"Yes?"

"How'd you know it was time to retire?"

The Irishman propped his foot on the bar and looked at Gibbs with a 'where did _that _come from' expression.

"And we want to know this why?"

"Just answer the damn question ya obstinate mick."

Dolan looked pious.

"Now, now no need ta use racial slurs. I knew it was time to go when it wasn't fun to come to work anymore. When I looked for any little excuse to call in sick. Days I'd rather stay home than climb into the bag and go fight the good fight. That's when I knew it was time to go."

Gibbs nodded.

That's it?"

"Aye, simple as that. I put my papers in, took my accumulated time, retired and never looked back. When I miss it, and I do, it's the _people _I miss, not the work or the place."

Gibbs looked pensive and Dolan grinned.

"I know you're thinkin' lad, I can smell the wood burnin'"

"Screw you Seamus."

"I remember your little hiatus Gibbs. You're like the old time fire horses. When the bells ring, you come runnin'. You and Franks are a lot alike when it comes to that. Where you differ is, Mikey got out. I think they'll be carryin' you out of this job by the handles."

Gibbs laughed.

"Thanks for that."

Dolan grinned.

"No problem. I see that Dr. Cranston's visit even affected 'the Boss'."

Jethro scowled.

"You're too goddamn perceptive for your own good Dolan."

"I've been told that before. It's a gift."

Jethro sighed .

"Kate didn't deserve that Seamus."

"Aye, she did not, but it made no difference did it?"

"Nope."

Gibbs drained the remainder of his bourbon.

"Time for me to go home. Thanks for lettin' me bend your ear."

Dolan came out from behind the bar to let Gibbs out. He gave him a grin.

"No worries Jethro. Even 'the Boss' needs an ear sometimes."

As Gibbs walked back to the Yard, his step was lighter and he felt better than he had in days.

**A/N: **Okay, only Ducky is left. Several people have expressed interest in who _Dolan_ talks to. That will be revealed at the end of Ducky's chapter. How about reviewing _this chapter. _C'mon you know you want to. Especially those of you who have never done so before. It's easy and fun, well easy anyway.


	28. Vets

**Disclaimer: It's copyrighted. It doesn't belong to me. I'm only writing fanfiction. I'm **_**definitely**_** NOT making money off of this.**

**Authors Note: **I left Gibbs and Ducky for last in this arc because I knew they'd be the toughest to write. They didn't disappoint me. I tore up Ducky's story twice before I settled on this one. And I'm not really sure about this one. Anyway, this brings to an end my tags for "A Man Walks Into A Bar". This series of chapters has made my story "You Can See A Lot Just By Observing" the most popular in my portfolio. For that I'd like to thank everybody who put it in their favorites, and on their alert list. As usual a big Thank You to my regulars who read my stuff and review it. I'd also like to thank some new readers who apparently liked this story enough to drop a review. So, **Madances, katesari, Long Live BRUCAS, Kristi, xteamgibbsx, anna, mikiss, luzma, Livy, Angelus 320, Is, **thanks a lot. If I missed anyone trust me it wasn't intentional. So enough author BS, on with the story!

**Spoilers: **See the previous chapters. I've given you guys enough warning.

**Autopsy, NCIS HQ, 1710hrs.**

Dr. Donald 'Ducky' Mallard surveyed his domain. All the "guests" of the Mallard Inn were in their "rooms" and the Autopsy suite was sparkling clean, ready for whatever tomorrow might bring.

_Mr. Palmer really did a very nice job. I must remember to compliment him tomorrow._

Dr. Mallard pulled on his coat and grabbed his hat heading for the door. As he reached the light switch, the door swished open and Forensic tech Abby Sciuto wearing her coat stepped in, pigtails bobbing.

"C'mon Duckman, the others are already headed out!"

Chuckling, Ducky flipped off the lights and stepped into the corridor causing Abby to back up.

"Coming my dear. Is Gibbs joining us?"

Abby made a face.

"No, he's in MTAC with the Director. It's just you, me, Tony, Timmy, and Ziva. Jimmy's got class."

The last few days had been caseless, so Abby decided an all hands trip to Charlie's was in order. As they walked to the elevator, Ducky offered his arm and Abby placed her arm through his.

"Lead on kindly light."

**Charlie's Bar 1725hrs.**

The group of NCIS agents pushed through the doors of Charlie's. Seamus Dolan the evening bartender looked up from the drink he was pouring at the service bar. He smiled and gave a little wave at the chorus of "Hi Seamus'" that greeted him. Charlie's was hopping. Between March Madness and it being payday, the joint was jumping. The group took the last vacant table in the bar area. Seamus was wiping his hands on a bar towel as Team Gibbs' waitress walked up.

"Two Glenlivet's , one on the rocks, one neat, a Zombie, a Harps, and a mojito."

"Got it Rose."

Seamus swiftly turned to and the drinks rapidly appeared on Rose's tray. As she picked it up, Dolan spoke.

"Tell 'em this round is on me."

Rose cocked an eyebrow.

"I don't think Frank is gonna like that."

"Rosie darlin' you leave our esteemed manager to me. Just serve the nice people their drinks, eh."

The owner of Charlie's gave Seamus some leeway when it came to handing out freebies. Frank didn't like that, but the boss was an old Navy man and told him to just get over it. Dolan didn't abuse the privilege so Frank had to swallow it. There was another big rush, so Seamus sort of lost track of Team Gibbs. When he finally had a chance to look up their table was empty. From his left he heard a voice with a Scottish burr.

"Can I get a refill my good man?"

Seamus turned to look into the smiling face of Dr. Mallard.

"Sure Doc. Comin' right up."

Ducky watched the bartender retreat down the bar to make the drink. He'd never spoken to Dolan much, mainly because he wasn't in Charlie's much. Over the last ten days however, he'd heard Dolan's name a lot. Apparently the team came to Charlie's individually to drink and talk to Dolan. Uncharacteristically it made Ducky a little jealous. Usually his friends came to him with their problems. Ducky smiled to himself.

_O beware my lord, of jealousy. It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on._

"Here ya go Doc."

Dolan's voice snapped Ducky back to the here and now.

"Thank you Dolan. And thank you for the drink earlier."

"_Ta' failte romhat."_

Ducky smiled delightedly.

"You speak Gaelic?"

"Aye, my folks kept the old language alive at home. I had to take lessons three times a week until high school."

"And then?"

Seamus smiled.

"I had me own little Rebellion. Told my ma and dad that it was unbecoming of a high schooler to be takin' language lessons in a language I'd never use outside the neighborhood."

"What happened?"

"My dad whupped the tar outta me for being so presumptuous. But the lessons stopped."

"So he saw your point?"

"After a fashion I guess. Excuse me Doc.."

Dolan hustled away to serve other customers. Ducky watched him as he traded digs and laughter with the other patrons. Ducky nursed his drink and eventually Dolan made his way back.

"Can I get you another Doc?"

"No thanks, and call me Ducky please. All my friends do."

"Sure Ducky."

Dr Mallard took note of the tattoos on Seamus' forearms. Knowing that Seamus served in Vietnam he gestured.

"We have something in common, I too was in Vietnam. Where were you stationed?"

Dolan smiled and propped a foot on the bar.

"Dong Tam. You?"

Ducky leaned back.

"Vung Tau. I was seconded from the Royal Army Medical Corps to the Royal Australian Army Medical Corps. The idea was to give RAMC surgeons combat medical experience in case the Russians came over the border in Germany. I was at the First Australian Field Hospital."

Dolan nodded.

"I was there in '68. You?"

"1969."

"Same-same. Number 10 all around."

Ducky laughed.

"Indeed. Then you came home and became a Boston policeman."

"Yeah, in my neighborhood you either became a cop, a crook or a priest."

From down the bar came a voice.

"Hey Dolan! Ya gonna bullshit or tend bar?"

"Excuse me Ducky. Hold your water you, I'm comin'."

When Seamus returned, he propped his foot on the bar again.

"So what brought the crew out tonight?"

"Well, we haven't been out as a group for a while. Abby thought it would be good for morale. It's been a trying couple of weeks."

"Kate's sister?"

"Quite. Having her here opened doors some people would have preferred to keep closed."

"I know. Everybody's been in here at one time or another. Except you of course Doc."

"Caitlin's death like those in Vietnam defy justification. But I mourned her as much as the others. One thing age does is offer some perspective. Plus unlike Anthony and Timothy I was not with her day in and day out. Nor was I her best friend as Abby was."

Ducky's face grew sad.

"She was what Mother would have called 'plucky'. She gave both Gibbs and DiNozzo as good as she got."

The doctor's face then grew stony.

"And nothing gave me more satisfaction as being able to weigh Ari's liver."

Dolan's face remained impassive.

_Sounds like even though he didn't need to, he needed to vent some._

Ducky finished the last of his scotch.

"And now I'll bid you good evening Seamus. I think I shall stop in more often. Maybe we could compare Vietnam experiences."

"I'd like that Doc. Stop in anytime."

With a wave Dr. Mallard departed for home.

**Seamus' apartment, Sunday 1815hrs.**

One of the good things about working at Charlie's was Dolan's commute to work. It was very short. He lived over the bar. In the Twenties and early Thirties, the second floor of the bar was a house of ill repute. In the Sixties, after falling into disrepair the second floor was turned into apartments.

So now on his day off he was on the couch dialing his phone. He made this call several times a month. It's been two weeks since his last call. After three rings the phone was picked up.

"_Saint Francis Rectory."_

"Hello Mrs. Ryan. Can I speak to my brother please?"

"_Of course Seamus. Father Dolan!"_

There was the sound of the phone being handed off. A softer version of Seamus' voice came over the line.

"_Hello?"_

Seamus grinned. His younger brother Paddy always was the quiet one.

"Hello squirt, how've ya been keeping…?"

**A/N: **Kudos to **alix33** for figuring out who Seamus talks to. So, the arc comes to an end. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Some Mike stories are next I think.


	29. My Life's A Movie

**Disclaimer: Any copyrighted material in this piece of fanfiction is the sole property of its creator(s). I just borrow it for my own nefarious purposes (BWAHHHH!). Sorry, got a little carried away there.**

**Authors Note: **I know I said I was going to do a Mike Franks story, but ol' Mike didn't want to come out to play. This in spite of USA Network running episodes from seasons 1 thru 4 this past week, including Hiatus and Judgment Day. So, here's my shot at doin' some Jibbs. Oh yeah, even though I didn't do a Mike story, he makes a cameo. If you want a little more of the conversation between Gibbs and Mike about Paris, see Chapter 8.

**Spoilers: **Small ones for "Hiatus", "Kill Ari", "Judgment Day", "Heartland" and "Tell-All". I also gave a last name to Jackson Gibbs' friend L J.

**Gibbs' House, Present Day, 2200hrs.**

Senior Supervisory Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs was sitting on his couch, a remote control in one hand and a glass containing three fingers of man's best friend in the other. He was trying to decide whether to play a DVD or go back down to his basement and work on his current project. Contrary to the views of his team, he was not a technophobe. He just hated cell phones and computers. DVD and CD players were okay. Gibbs also enjoyed movies and music. He just wasn't as fanatic about it as DiNozzo. Jethro's taste ran to the black and white classics he'd watched growing up. Also, despite what he'd told Abby about listening to "only five songs", Gibbs listened to far more than that. He liked country, classic rock, and especially the blues. For that he could thank his father's friend and his namesake Leroy Jethro Parker. After Gibbs' mom died if things got too heavy with his dad, he'd go over to L J's place. There he would get a sympathetic ear and a chance to listen to Elmore James, Lightning Hopkins, Koko Taylor, Muddy Waters, Howlin' Wolf, B.B. King and other blues greats.

Jethro took a sip from his glass and sighed. Today'd been an emotional rollercoaster. Diane's wedding invitation and talking to Lt. Keeler in the break room opened watertight doors that Gibbs preferred to keep closed. Keeler's plight reminded him of Shannon, which on its own wouldn't have been too bad. The scar tissue on that wound was pretty thick. But thinking of Shannon led to thinking of Jenny, and the scar tissue there was no where thick enough yet, which led him to where he was now. Sitting on his couch trying to figure out if he should watch the DVD or go downstairs.

_C'mon Leroy, you know which it's gonna be._

Back in '99 when he'd come back from Europe, Gibbs went down to Mexico to visit his mentor and friend, Mike Franks. One afternoon when they were sitting in Carlos' Cantina, Gibbs told Mike, minus the name of course of his affair with a fellow agent. After hearing him out, Franks had laughed.

"_That's pretty good Probie. Your life's a damn movie."_

_Gibbs looked at his friend with a quizzical look on his face. Mike raised an eyebrow with an 'I don't believe you don't get this' look._

"_You ever see 'Casablanca' Gibbs?"_

"_The movie with Humphrey Bogart?"_

"_Uh-huh. Ring any bells?"_

_"No."_

_Mike sighed._

"_Christ on a pogo stick you're dense. Ilsa leaves Rick for Victor in P__**aris**__ then comes back into his life a couple of years later."_

_Gibbs shrugged._

"_But she didn't leave me for someone else; she left 'cause of her 'plan'."_

_Franks sighed again, this time a little dramatically._

"_Damn Probie, haven't you ever heard of a metaphor?"_

"_Yeah Boss I have. One flaw in your argument, she just left me. I don't think she's comin' back."_

_Franks grinned._

"_I'm sure at the time Rick thought the same thing. Look what happened to him."_

Gibbs smiled at the memory, fast forwarding to that fateful day in MTAC when Tom Morrow told Jethro he was going to Homeland Security and Jenny stood up from the shadows. After absorbing the fact she was back, his brain automatically came up with the following:

_Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she had to walk into mine…_

After taking over the reins, Jenny laid down the law when Gibbs broached the subject of meeting away from work.

"_There won't be any 'off the job' Agent Gibbs."_

__So they'd settled into an uneasy truce. When Jenny started obsessing over 'La Grenoullie', Jethro did his best to back her play. She did not make it easy. Then 'The Frog' wound up dead. At first DiNozzo came under suspicion but was cleared. Then William Decker died out in California and Gibbs realized that Jenny had more than likely killed 'The Frog'. Trying to atone for screwing up in Paris, Jenny was killed.

_No Hollywood ending._

Gibbs grunted and finally hit the 'play' button on the remote. The opening music of 'Casablanca' filled the room.

_The sky is crying, look at the tears roll down the street The sky is crying, look at the tears roll down the street I'm waiting in tears for my baby, and I wonder where can she be?_**- Elmore James**

**A/N: **This is a little shorter than my usual, but I still think it's pretty good. In "Yankee White", Gibbs knew about the movie "Air Force One". So from that I extrapolated that he was a little more culturally aware than the show gives him credit for.


	30. Now It's Real

**Disclaimer: None. We **_**all **_**know the deal anyway.**

**Authors Note: **This story caps off my take on the end of Season 8. Those of you who've read the three stories over in 'El Viejo' thanks for coming along here. If you haven't, why not? My biggest question concerning the last episode is,' Where Was Ziva?' Going to be interesting how the writers are gonna answer that one. Anyway enjoy this story and I'll meet you in a place that still has Mike Franks in it.

**Spoilers: **_**Swan Song and Pyramid.**_

**MCRT Bullpen, One Month After Mike Franks' Funeral, 2025hrs.**

NCIS Senior Supervisory Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs was working late. To be more accurate he was pretending to work. The rest of the team left hours ago. Gibbs was working through several personal items in his head. Item 1 was the fact Ziva David missed Mike Franks' funeral. She never showed at Oceana NAS to catch SecNav's Gulfstream down to Mexico. Her cell went straight to voicemail. On the way home Gibbs had a quiet word with each member of the team. Especially Abby. They were not to bring up the topic with Ziva. Whatever was going on Gibbs wanted her to come to him. Gibbs' gut was twisting and not just from Ziva. That brings us to Item 2, Senior Field Agent Anthony 'Tony' DiNozzo. He also was into something. Jethro wasn't sure just what the hell was going on. He'd thought about bracing Vance, but thought the better of it. Discrete digging didn't produce anything. Gibbs sighed.

_I'll let it ride a little longer._

Item 3 was personal and easily taken care of. Gibbs just didn't want to. Another sigh.

_Once I do this, it'll be real. Been putting it off too long, time to bite the bullet._

Mind finally made up, Gibbs rose, retrieved his holstered weapon from the drawer and snapped off his desk lamp.

**Charlie's Bar, 2035hrs.**

Ten minutes later Gibbs pushed through the double doors of Charlie's. It was the day before payday so the crowd was light. Seamus Dolan was behind the bar cleaning glasses and talking to one of the three customers. He looked over his shoulder when the doors opened and nodded at Gibbs. Jethro returned the nod and walked around the horseshoe shaped bar to take a seat facing the door. Dolan walked down and stopped in front of Gibbs.

"What can I get you?"

"Bourbon, Seamus."

"Comin' up."

Dolan placed a coaster in front of Gibbs and went to make the drink. When he returned Seamus placed the drink gently on the coaster and propped his foot under the bar.

"My condolences on the loss of Mike Franks, Gibbs."

Jethro started, realizing that he hasn't been in Charlie's since that fateful night over a month ago.

"Thanks Seamus, I appreciate that."

"You're welcome. I heard he got a piece of the bastard before he checked out."

"Yeah, he did. Went out fighting, just the way he'd of wanted to."

Seamus gave a small smile.

"Then he'll be waiting for us at Fiddler's Green when we finally cash in."

Gibbs returned the smile.

"I certainly hope so."

A customer down the bar called Seamus away and Gibbs sipped his drink. Over the last month, when his mind was idle Jethro's mind had a tendency to drift back to memories of Mike.

_The time on the beach when he talked Gibbs out of killing himself, 'taking a leak', fitting Jethro with his first NIS raid jacket, retelling him about 9/11, watching him have to take his son off life support…_

"Gibbs?"

Jethro's head snapped up bringing the concerned face of Seamus Dolan into focus.

"You okay laddie?"

"Yeah Dolan, I'm all right. Just zoned out for a few."

Bourbon?"

"Uh-huh."

Seamus exchanged a fresh drink for Gibbs' empty glass. Jethro turned the glass a couple of times and then looked up at Dolan.

"Did you have a mentor when you where on the PD up in Boston?"

If he was surprised by the question Seamus didn't show it.

"I did indeed. Francis Powley by name. He was my first partner. Looked a lot like the actor Ward Bond, if you know who that is."

Gibbs nodded in the affirmative, Dolan continued.

"He probably forgot more police work than I ever learned. During the winter he'd keep a sap hidden up the right sleeve of his coat. If we were talkin' to someone and they got out of hand, Frank would jerk his arm forward and the sap would slide out. Franks would thump him and slide the sap back up his sleeve. It would happen so fast it looked like Frank just touched him and the guy fell."

Gibbs chuckled.

"Sounds pretty cagey."

"Aye, that he was. However he was overly fond of booze and it finally cost him his job. Not the first copper to succumb to Demon Rum, nor the last."

A call came from down the bar.

"Hey Dolan! See your patients on your own time. How 'bout some service down here!"

Seamus rolled his eyes.

"Be back shortly. Hold your water you! I'm comin'."

After serving drinks to the other end of the bar Seamus came back, taking up his former position.

"So what can I really do for you this fine evening Special Agent Gibbs?"

Gibbs face took on a 'who me?' look.

"Why does it have to be something Dolan?"

"Because the only one of your team that comes in here less is Dr. Mallard. So when Papa Gibbs himself comes in, it's something."

Gibbs sighed.

"You'd make a pretty good cop, you know."

Seamus snorted and Gibbs reached into his jacket, withdrawing a picture. He slid it across the bar to Dolan.

"This needs to go up on the wall."

Seamus Dolan looked down at the smiling face of Mike Franks. Dolan's face softened.

"Sure Gibbs. I'll take care of it personally."

"Thanks Seamus."

Gibbs downed the rest of his drink and slid off the stool. Dolan picked up the picture and watched as Gibbs left the bar.

**A/N: **Okay, I've dealt with Mike getting killed. I still think that they made a mistake killing him off. I hope it was because Muse needed time for other projects. I'm ready now to deal with other NCIS related stuff. Stay tuned.


	31. Nice To Meet You

**Disclaimer: The standard disclaimer applies to this work of fiction. I am NOT making a profit here.**

**Authors Note: **So I worked today, which means I wrote a story. My muse has been on strike since I finished my take on the end of Season 8. But, she decided to make an appearance today. This story takes place during 'Hiatus'. Mike Franks and Seamus Dolan meet for the first time. Enjoy.

**Spoilers: **A ti-ti one for 'Hiatus'. This story also is based around my OC, the bartender Seamus Dolan.

**Charlie's Bar, 2300hrs.**

Mike Franks pushed through the double doors of Charlie's Bar. The last time he was here was 1996.

_I wouldn't be here now 'cept Probie managed to get himself blown up._

'Probie' was Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs. The current Director of NCIS, Jennifer Shepard asked Mike to come to DC. After being blown up Gibbs went into a coma. When he came out of it, he had memory loss. One of the memories was information on a possible terrorist strike against the US Navy. Director Shepard was hoping Franks could jog Gibbs' memory. So far Mike had not been successful.

As he moved past the memorial wall and its burning candle Franks scanned the bar.

_Still looks pretty much the same. There's a new evening bartender though._

It was true. Behind the bar was a guy about Mike's age and height, with red hair streaked with some grey. He was wearing classic bartender's attire. A white long sleeved shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, a skinny black tie tucked into the shirt at the third button, a white apron over black slacks.

Franks walked around the horseshoe shaped bar and sat on a stool facing the door. The bartender approached and placed a coaster in front of Mike.

"What can I get ya Mac?"

_Boston Irish from the sound of it. Figures with the red hair and all._

"Corona, slice of lime."

"Comin' up."

_Was that a look of disapproval I just saw?_

Mike put his cigarettes and lighter on the bar. The bartender returned with the beer and a glass. The slice of lime was stuck in open neck of the bottle. As he put down the beer the man looked pointedly at the cigarettes.

"No smokin' in the bar boyyo."

Mike looked shocked.

"Say?"

As if talking to a dim-witted child the red haired bartender said slowly:

"The District of Columbia has a 'no smoking in public places' ordinance. This includes bars and restaurants."

"You're shitin' me."

The bartender smirked.

"I wouldn't shit you, you're my favorite turd."

Mike's mouth dropped open, and then he laughed sticking out his hand.

"Okay, no smokin'. Mike Franks."

The bartender grasped Mike's hand.

_Got a good grip on him._

"Seamus Dolan."

"Nice to meet you Dolan."

"Likewise Michael."

As Seamus retracted his hand, Mike saw the 'Mekong Delta Yacht Club' tattoo.

_Not surprising, we look to be about the same age. Bet he was a squid._

"Say Seamus, where's Sam?"

"Sam? He's been gone since '99. I'm guessing you haven't been assigned to DC in a while."

Mike snorted.

"Assigned? Hell, I've been _retired_ since '96."

Seamus smiled.

"Well excuse me. A man of leisure then. From the tan, I'd say Florida?"

"Nah, Baja Mexico. Living is cheaper and the sun's warmer."

"Aye, it probably is at that."

Customers called Dolan away and Mike sipped his beer. The familiar itch started and Mike's hand reached for his smokes.

"_No smokin' in the bar boyyo."_

__Mike growled.

"One more reason to hate comin' back here."

Unnoticed Seamus walked up.

"You say something Mike?"

"Nah. How 'bout another beer?"

"You got it."

As Seamus returned, Mike thought how much Dolan resembled the actor Ben Johnson when he was younger. Dolan placed the beer in front of Mike and Franks noticed the 'Sat Cong' tat on Seamus' forearm.

"When were you in the 'Nam?"

Seamus looked Mike over.

"'69. You?"

"'68. Eighteen months."

Seamus stroked his chin.

"Marines?"

"Uh huh. First of the Ninth."

Dolan looked impressed.

"The Walking Dead."

Mike smiled.

"The very same. You weren't a Marine though, were you?"

Seamus looked horrified.

"Oh hell no! I never slept in a hole or ate out of little cans. I was a bow gunner on a PBR. Clean sheets and a nice mess hall for Mrs. Dolan's little boy."

Mike snorted.

"Goddamn squid."

"Better that than a seagoing bellhop. I'd rather me sister in a whore house then me brother in the Corps."

"Listen here Crackerjack, real men have zippers in their uniform trousers."

"Least I don't have thread marks on my forehead."

Franks opened his mouth to reply when a voice came from the opposite end of the bar.

"If you girls are done can a thirsty _patron _get a drink around here?"

Seamus glared at the guy and moved to get him a drink. When Seamus returned he was smiling.

"Truce?"

Mike laughed.

"Truce."

"So Mike, if you're retired to Mexico, why are you gracing our humble establishment?"

"You know Gibbs?"

"Aye, I do."

"You know what happened to him?"

"I do."

"Well, he was my Probie."

Seamus' eyes widened.

"You're _that _Mike Franks?"

"Uh huh."

"And Gibbs was your Probie?"

"Right again."

"Hard to think of that crusty bastard as a Probie."

Mike chuckled.

"But he was. Green as grass too. The Director was hoping I could jog his memory about certain things. I haven't had much luck."  
Seamus shook his head.

"Well, maybe you'll have better luck tomorrow."

Mike nodded.

"Hope so."

"Another beer?"

"Naw, I think I'll head back to the Navy Lodge."

With that, Mike downed his beer, picked up his cigarettes and lighter and slid off the stool.

"Night Seamus."

"Night Michael."

As Franks swaggered towards the door, Seamus murmured:

"I thought he'd be taller."

**A/N: **During their, erhm, _discussion, _Mike and Seamus use some terms that bear explaining. A 'seagoing bellhop' is a pejorative term used by sailors to refer to Marines assigned to shipboard duties, such as messengers, and aides to officers. The remark about zippers is because a sailor's Dress Blues bell bottom trousers have thirteen buttons for the fly rather than a zipper. The 'thread mark' crack is because Marines are referred to as 'Jarheads' because their white barracks covers resemble jar lids. Happy Memorial Day. _**The land of the free because of the brave. **_HOOAH, OOHRAH, HOOYAH.


	32. Loose Ends

**Disclaimer: I, {insert penname here} do solemnly swear that the below work of **_**fanfiction **_**is not being written for profit. All the characters except for my OC's are the property of their respective copyright owners. Whew!**

**Authors Note: **This story has to be read in the context of my story "First Dig Two Graves". It will contain an OC that I introduced in that story named Sam Morrel. Sam was a character that was going to be a one shot. BUT, **USAFChief **took a liking to him and mentioned he and Mike Franks should _maybe_ meet. SO, in my idea book I headed a page "Mike & Sam". I've been adding little research facts to this page off and on. The other day in work, I was looking for something to write and stumbled across Mike and Sam. This story is the result. Oh yeah, **alix33** also expressed an interest in Sam.

**Spoilers: **Do I have to? Okay, if you don't know that Gibbs' wife and daughter were killed, consider yourself spoiled

**Gibbs house, base housing, Camp Pendleton MCB, Saturday, June 15, 1991 1000hrs.**

"_Just 'cause you got over on Macy, don't let it go to your head…"_

As NIS agent Mike Franks drove away from Gunny Gibbs' house, he had a niggling feeling kicking around in the back of his head.

_Did he really get over on Macy?_

_Well, yeah, he did._

Before he talked to Lt. Lara Macy in the Observation Room, Franks read the Marine CID case file. Gibbs put in a leave request for ten days. Ostensibly to go hiking in the Mt. San Jacinto State Park, north and east of Pendleton. Except no one remembered seeing him or his pick up in the area. Not good for Gibbs. But, on the afternoon of June 8th, just outside of Aguanga on State Road 371, a California Highway Patrol officer stopped to help a disabled motorist in a pickup truck. Aguanga is south and west of the state park. The motorist was Gibbs. His truck had a blown radiator hose. The CHPpie gave Gibbs a ride into town, where the Gunny was able to buy a new hose. The officer stood by until Gibbs got back on the road. In both his original report _and _the supplemental he had to write, the officer said there were no firearms in evidence, just camping gear. While it was thin, it was still an alibi of sorts.

_But is it?_

Sometimes, Mike hated his 'gut'. It felt like there was a loose end. Franks _hated _loose ends.

_Why are you thinkin' loose end? _

_I don't know. But it feels like there's one._

Without realizing it Mike drove off the base. He pulled the Caprice onto the shoulder, lowered the window and shut off the car. During the Gibbs-Bailey homicide investigation, Mike was allowed to take his 'company car' home. After the case was over he kept doing it. Nobody told him to stop. Mike got out a cigarette, lit it and stared off into the middle distance.

One of the reasons the CID's case was weak was the Mexican authorities wouldn't provide any info except that Pedro Hernandez disappeared. Mike knew better. He'd left the case file on his desk when Gibbs was in his office. Then he conveniently 'needed to take a leak'. Now ol' Pedro up and disappeared?

_Yeah, sure._

Mike would bet his next paycheck that Gibbs went and took care of business. But…

_How did Gibbs get into Mexico?_

Mike reached down and opened the glove box. Inside were roadmaps of California, Oregon, Washington State, Arizona and Nevada. He pulled out the map of Arizona. Hernandez was staying on a _rancho_ outside of Buena Vista, Northern Sonora. Nogales was the nearest border crossing.

_He'd never cross there._

Because of the investigation of his family's deaths, Mike was intimately familiar with Gibbs' Service Record Book. Even the Classified part. Mike had a Top Secret clearance, a fact that really pissed off his SAC. _His _clearance was only Classified. Gibbs was part of a black ops unit run by a Marine colonel. He'd never use a conventional crossing.

_So, where __**did **__he cross?_

Mike drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he gazed at the map. Then he groaned.

_He'd stash his truck and hump it to Buena Vista._

_Okay, all well and good, but where would he stash it? _

Mike groaned again.

_You're gonna have to go and find out. Oh, goody._

Mike set aside the Arizona map and pulled out a regional one. Camp Pendleton to the area of Nogales. At least a seven hour ride. Franks groaned for a third time.

_Crap._

**State Road 82 south of Vail, Arizona**

It was a _seven and a half _hour drive and Mike Franks was not in the best of humor.

_Not the way I envisioned spending my Saturday off._

Mike was approximately three miles short of the Mexican border on the lookout for any side roads or trails. Finally on his left he saw a mailbox and a rutted track. That 'feeling' was starting again. Mike sighed and turned onto the track, stopping by the mailbox. He got out of the car stretching and retrieved the mail from the box. There were several pieces of mail, all addressed to Sam Morrel. Tossing the mail on the passenger seat, Mike got back in the car.

Thirty minutes and two sessions with an old entrenching tool he kept in the trunk later, Franks pulled into a dusty ranch yard. There was a single story house with a porch, a barn and a small corral. Standing on the porch was an older looking guy who could've been fifty or eighty. He was tanned the color of old leather, wearing faded Levi's tucked into the tops of his boots. His white long sleeved shirt was buttoned at the neck. There was a low crowned Stetson shading his face. Even at a distance Franks could see his hard blue eyes.

_Gunfighter's eyes._

Mike shut off his car, grabbed the man's mail and exited his car groaning as he stood. The man came off the porch. Mike raised his hand.

"Evenin'."

"Howdy, what can I do for ya?"

Mike handed the man his mail and pulled out his ID with his other hand, flipping it open.

"Special Agent Mike Franks, Naval.."

".. Investigative Service", the older man finished. Mike raised an eyebrow.

"Was a Marine at one time", the man replied.

"You're a long way from the ocean Agent Franks."

Mike grinned.

"Guess I am. And call me Mike."

The man grinned back, stretching out his hand, which Mike shook.

"Sam, Sam Morrel."

Sam looked at Mike's car, shaking his head.

"Didn't think anything but a four wheel drive could get here from the road."

Franks grimaced.

"It wasn't easy, but I got her here."

Sam turned and headed for the house.

"Well c'mon, let's go set an' you can tell me what this is all about."

The two men walked up onto the porch and into a spotless looking kitchen. Sam gestured to the table.

"Have a seat. Coffee?"

"Absolutely"

Sam took a coffee pot off a hot plate and poured two cups. He sat and slid a cup to Mike across the oilcloth covered table.

"Ya want cream or sugar?"

"Nah, black is good."

Sam smiled.

"A man after my own heart. So what can an old broken down rancher do for NIS?"

Mike reached into his coat pocket and placed a picture of Gunnery Sergeant Leroy Jethro Gibbs on the table.

"See this guy around here in the last ten days or so? Would've been driving a pickup truck."

Though he was watching closely, Franks saw no reaction from the rancher. At least he thought there was no reaction. There _may _have been the barest flicker, but it was so quick that Mike thought he may have imagined it.

"What'd he do?" asked the older man.

"Killed a guy down in Mexico. Buena Vista."

"Why?"

"Drug deal gone bad." Mike said blandly.

Sam looked interested.

"This guy's a Marine?"

"Uh huh. Gunnery Sergeant."

Sam laughed.

"Now I know you're shittin' me. No Gunny'd ever sell drugs."

"Times change Sam."

"Not that much they don't. Quit yankin' my chain. What'd he _really _do?"

Mike sighed.

_I don't think I'd ever want to play poker with this old coot. No tells and he don't bluff._

"Well, we think he _did _kill a guy down in Buena Vista. The guy _was _a drug dealer who killed his wife and daughter."

Sam gestured at the picture.

"What's he got to say about all this?"

"He says he didn't do it. There's no physical evidence to link him to it. The dealer just up and disappeared."

Sam took a sip of coffee. His face was hard.

"Well, I haven't seen him. An' based on what you've told me, if I did, I don't think I'd tell ya anyway."

Mike sighed.

"Yeah, I can understand that. I don't like it anymore than you."

Sam's face softened.

"This Marine stationed at Camp Pendleton?"

Mike nodded.

"His name is Gibbs and yes he is."

"You drive all the way from there?"

Mike nodded again.

"Yeah, an' I'll be drivin' all the way back."

Sam looked at a clock hanging on the wall behind Mike.

"Listen, it's kinda late in the day. Why don't ya stay for supper? I've got a bottle of mescal around here somewhere. Don't get too much company. You could drive back in the mornin'."

Mike considered and then smiled.

"Sounds like a plan."

**Two hours later**

After a supper of pan fried steak and _frijoles_ topped off with canned peaches, the two men adjourned to the porch with a bottle of mescal. It turned out they had a few things in common. Both were divorced, they each loved all things Mexican, including the _senoritas_. And they were both former Marines. Mike took a pull from the mescal bottle and handed it to Sam.

"So when were you in?"

Sam took his own pull at the bottle.

"I turned eighteen in December of 1944. I enlisted and went to boot camp. By February I was shipping out to the Pacific, assigned to the Second Battalion Fifth Marines. They were part of the First Marine Division. Caught up to 'em on Pavuvu where they were resting and refitting after the Peleliu landing. There were ultimately six Marine divisions in the Pacific. But the First, 'the Old Breed' made the first landing against Japan at Guadalcanal. Then Cape Gloucester, followed by Peleliu. These guys were the best, and now I was part of that."

Sam stopped for a moment packing a bulldog pipe and lighting it.

"So we trained for the next landing which turned out to be Okinawa. The Japs were expected to go all out. Okinawa was a prefecture of the home islands. Well, the Nips went all out all right. I fought at the Awacha Pocket and was wounded at Kunishi Ridge. I wasn't hit bad enough to be evacuated, so I stayed on the island. After the battle was over, we stayed on Okie, training. The rumor was that the First would have the 'honor' of being in the first wave when we invaded Japan."

Sam took a long pull from the mescal bottle before passing it back to Mike.

"Some honor. The word going around was that the brass was expecting 70 to 80 percent casualties. The guys who were still around from the 'Canal were like 'we'll never get home now'. Thank God for Harry Truman. After Japan surrendered they sent us to Northern China for occupation duty. I got back to Camp Pendleton in '47."

Mike nodded.

"Is that when you got out?"

Sam smiled.

"No, my enlistment was for four years, so I still had a year to go. I loved the Corps and was thinking about staying in. Only problem was, I was a horrible garrison Marine. Overseas I made it all the way to Staff Sergeant. A couple of bar fights in Oceanside, an' I was a Corporal. My Company Gunny sat me down and talked me into extending my enlistment and straitening myself out. So I did. I got Korea for my trouble."

Sam laughed and took the mescal bottle back from Mike taking a pull.

"The Division, 2/5 included shipped over to Korea. We fought our way into North Korea up near the China border. Apparently we got a little too close for old Mao's comfort, 'cause those little tennis shoe wearin' bastards came across the border like locusts."

Mike, knowing his Marine Corps history looked grim.

"The Chosin Reservior."

Sam nodded.

"Exactly. -35 degrees and Chinamen all over the damned place. The 2/5 was at Yudam-ni. We got surrounded, fought off five battalions of Chinese infantry and broke out. We were the rearguard for the Division on the way to Hagaru-ri. I got wounded and almost froze to death in one of the trucks. When we finally made it to Hungnam I was evac'd to Japan and then the States."

Mike was impressed.

"So you're one of the "Chosin Few?"

Sam grinned.

"Yup. I heard us called that a while back. After I got out of the hospital, I decided to leave the Corps. I knew I'd be a horrible peacetime Marine. Got my discharge and went cowboyin' up in Wyoming. A buddy of mine was a ranch foreman up there. Then, when my folks passed, my brother and sister wanted to sell this place. I said no, bought 'em out and I've been here ever since."

Mike gestured around.

"Kinda lonely out here though, ain't it?"

Sam smiled.

"Yeah, but it's peaceful and it's _warm. _After Korea, warm was important. It's one of the reasons I wasn't sorry to leave Wyoming. Winters up there are a bitch."

After a few more pulls, the bottle was empty. Both men decided to call it a night. Sam put Mike in his spare bedroom. After a long day and good booze, Mike was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

**Sunday, June 16, 1991 0530hrs.**

Mike snapped awake. It took him several seconds to figure out where he was. In the distance he heard what he assumed to be Sam moving around in the kitchen. Mike rolled out of bed, retrieving his Python from under his pillow. He made the bed and dressed in the clothes he was wearing yesterday. Franks left the bedroom and walked down the hallway to the kitchen. Sure enough, Sam was up and looked to be getting ready to make breakfast.

"Mornin' Mike. Coffee?"

Franks just grunted, causing Sam to smile.

"Not a morning person?"

"I am, just takes me a bit to get started."

Mike sat at the table and Sam handed him a mug of coffee.

"I pegged you for a late riser."

Mike smiled.

"The Corps took care of that. 0530 sober or hung over. Or still drunk, depending."

Sam laughed and nodded.

"You never said yesterday when you were in. Just let an old fool natter on."

"Ah, late '67 into '69. Eighteen months in the 'Nam. No big deal."

Sensing that was all he would get from the younger man, Sam let it go.

"Breakfast?"

"Nah Sam thanks. I'll finish my coffee and hit the road. It's a long ride back."

"Okay."

The two men sipped their coffee in companionable silence. Franks finally stood. They walked out to the Caprice and shook hands.

"_Vaya con Dios_ Mike."

Mike grinned.

"Same to you pard."

Mike slid into the Caprice and fired it up. As he left the ranch yard he could see Sam headed back to the house.

_Guess there was no loose end after all._

**A/N: **I usually don't put Mike Franks stories here. But, since it had to do with one of my previous stories I figured you wouldn't mind. This is one of two ongoing stories I do. My other story, 'El Viejo' is strictly about Mike Franks, the Boss's Boss. I was thinking of doing a story arc like the 'A Man Walks Into A Bar' over there. It would be about Mike before he joined NIS. I need some help though. Does anybody know when Mike joined NIS? I know he retired in 1996. If he had a full twenty in, that would make it 1976 when he came on. But, did he come on earlier? Mike's file has been on the plasma a time or two, but I've never been able to read it. If any of you sharp-eyed fans noticed, just include it in a review. I will make sure to credit your assistance when I write the chapter(s). Thanks.


	33. The Good Turn

**Disclaimer: I disclaim, Nuff Said.**

**Authors Note: **It's taken me a looong time to get this story out. **5Snowflakes **wanted a story involving Gibbs and Rose Tamayo from the episode 'Deliverance'. I _think_ she's looking for a romance-y story, but I really don't do romance too well. But I still think this is a good story. I tried to find the name of the cartel biggie Gibbs sniped. Couldn't find it, so I made it up. Enjoy.

**Spoilers: **Well, duh! This story is sort of a prequel to my other chapter, "One Good Turn Deserves Another".

**Five miles south and west of San Francisco, Colombia, Thursday March 14, 1990 0803hrs.**

Gunnery Sergeant Leroy Jethro Gibbs USMC cased his M40A1 sniper rifle and attached the case to his rucksack. He shrugged into the ruck, tightening the straps. He then picked up his CAR-15, making sure it was off safe and the selector switch was on three round burst.

_Good to go. Time to get the hell outta Dodge._

Gibbs exited his hide. He'd just killed Caesar Gonzalez with a shot to the chest from 1200 yards. Gonzalez was a lieutenant of Pablo Escobar, head of the Medellin Cartel. Gibbs slid downhill and hit level ground. From here he could stay in the jungle or take a chance on the hard pack trail that was fifty yards ahead. Gibbs figured he had about thirty minutes before the pursuit would start. He'd been watching the _hacienda _and its security since Monday, so he had a good feel for his chances. If he stuck to the jungle he'd stay hidden but wouldn't get too far. If he used the trail he could gain distance on his pursuit. There were however random patrols on the trail.

_Screw it. Let's make tracks._

Jethro made his way to the trail and took off double time. After fifteen minutes, the Marine came to a bend in the trail. Around the bend came a man carrying a pump shotgun. He was dressed in camo pants, a dark green t-shirt and had a pistol belted around his waist. The man stopped dead in his tracks gaping at Jethro.

Gibbs reacted first, snapping the CAR-15 from the low ready to his waist, squeezing the trigger. The shot gunner, who was probably the point for a patrol fired at the same time. Due to his reacting first, Gibbs' rounds hit first. The three 5.56 rounds punched the shot gunner backwards. This caused the shotgun round to hit Gibbs in the right arm and shoulder instead of center mass. A Double O buck round contains nine pieces of shot that are approximately .32 caliber. Six of the shot struck Gibbs in the upper right arm and shoulder. The impact spun Jethro halfway around and caused him to drop his CAR-15. The shot gunner was lying on the trail, his heels drumming against the ground.

Around the bend Gibbs could hear excited voices and the sound of running feet. His right arm was dangling uselessly. Using his left hand Gibbs yanked an M-67 fragmentation grenade off his combat harness. Prior to the mission he'd removed the safety clip and straightened the pin. As a concession to safety Gibbs used a piece of hundred mile an hour tape to hold down the pull ring so it wouldn't snag on brush causing a bad day. The tape did not interfere with Jethro grabbing the pull ring with his teeth and John Wayneing it loose. He let the spoon fly and held the grenade for a count of one thousand and one before chucking it around the bend. Jethro then plunging into the jungle next to the trail. He heard the shout of _GRENADA!_ followed by the crack of detonation and screaming.

_That'll slow 'em down some._

He then realized his CAR-15 was still on the trail.

_CRAP. Well, can't go back now._

Gibbs continued plowing into the jungle, sacrificing stealth for speed. After a hundred yards he stopped and took a knee to evaluate his wounds. His arm was flopping loosely, probably broken. He had at least six holes in his upper arm and shoulder that were bleeding. None of the holes were gushing which was good. The pain was minimal because adrenalin was still coursing through his system.

_That'll change. Gotta slow down the bleeding._

He stood, his head swimming for a second. With his left hand he reached into his first aid pouch. Along with the standard stuff, Gibbs had four or five tampons he'd 'borrowed' from his wife. Using his teeth he ripped open the packets one by one, stuffing a tampon in each hole. They would swell, plugging the holes and slowing the bleeding. Again with his left hand he grabbed his right wrist and tucked his right hand into his combat harness. The movement brought a sharp stab of pain that made him gasp and tears come to his eyes.

_At least now my arms out of the way. Time to move._

Gibbs was in big trouble. He was wounded, compromised and only armed with his 92F. Trying to operate his M40 was out of the question.

_Oh yeah, and my exfil point is about twenty miles away._

Moving more cautiously Jethro tried to put more distance between himself and his cartel pursuers. He knew he was not covering his trail as well as he could, but he hoped it would be enough. By midday he was slowing down. The pain was pretty severe and he felt like passing out. By 1400 he was done. Just past a small clearing he dropped to the ground at the base of a tree. Gibbs leaned back into his ruck panting. He got out a canteen and drained it. Down to two. Reaching over to his right side he managed to unholster his 92F.

_I'll take fifteen and get started again._

It was his last conscious thought.

**Saturday March 16, 1990 1310hrs.**

Gunnery Sergeant Leroy Jethro Gibbs woke up but kept his eyes closed. He was lying on his back wearing just his cammie pants and boots, no shirt. It felt like his right shoulder and arm were bandaged. It also felt like he had an IV in his left arm. Gibbs heard two voices speaking Spanish. One was female. He randomly wondered if the cartel used female interrogators. His head was clearing and he started to think about getting up. He wasn't restrained which he thought was strange. Someone approached and he felt that person kneeling next to him. A warm, soft hand was laid on his forehead. He decided to open his eyes.

It was a woman, long brown hair, brown eyes, smiling. She spoke in accented English.

"Ah, you are awake. Good."

Gibbs looked up and saw he was indeed hooked up to an IV. It was most likely from his medical kit. The woman noted the direction of his gaze.

"It is from the supplies in your rucksack. I'm glad you are awake. It is the last one."

Gibbs nodded.

"Where am I? And who're you?"

The woman smiled again.

"You are near my village, which is near San Francisco. And I am Rose."

"How'd I get here?"

"I found you in the jungle unconscious. My father and uncle carried you. We put you in our cart, covered you with burlap sacks, put cut down marijuana on top and brought you here."

Now that she mentioned it Gibbs vaguely remembered the smell of burlap and the feeling of bumping along in a cart.

Gibbs started to get up wincing.

"I've gotta get out of here. The cartel will be looking for me."

Rose gently put a hand on Gibbs' good shoulder, holding him down.

"They've already been here Gibbs. We hid you."

Jethro raised an eyebrow at hearing his name. Rose gestured at his chest.

"Your ID tags."

Gibbs grunted. Even though this was a deniable op he wore his dog tags. If he was killed, he didn't give a rat's ass if the US was embarrassed. At least his wife would know. And if he was wounded and captured he wouldn't bleed to death because the cartel didn't know his blood type.

"I still need to get out of here. I've got a rendezvous to get to."

Rose smiled.

Do not worry. It has all been arranged. Your countrymen will be here tonight. I was able to get in touch with them yesterday."

Gibbs scowled.

"Yesterday? How long have I been out?"

"A day."

_Shit a whole day. Wait she said __**she **__got in touch. Then..._

The light bulb went on for Gibbs. During his briefing he'd been told that there was an asset on the inside of the _hacienda._

"You're our informant."

Rose looked grim.

"Yes, I was working inside the house. After Gonzalez was killed I was cleaning near the area where the radio was. I heard that you ran into a patrol and that you might be hurt. I was able to slip away, got my father and uncle and went to look for you. After we found you and brought you here, I went to San Francisco and used a friend's phone and called my emergency contact number. They said a team would be here sometime tonight."

"That's great. Can you help me sit up?"

Rose took Gibbs around the shoulders and helped him sit up. He didn't feel dizzy at all. Gibbs checked the IV bag noting it was almost empty. He pulled out the needle.

"Okay, help me stand up."

Rose shook her head.

"I don't think that's a good idea Gibbs."

Jethro glared at her.

"Help. Me. Up."

Rose sighed and helped Jethro to stand. He staggered but caught himself. They were under a large lean-to at the back of Rose's house. There was a table and some chairs and the pallet Gibbs had been on. Jethro made it over to a chair and sat down heavily. Rose shook her head and walked over to him.

"If you open your wounds and start bleeding again I'm going to hit you."

Gibbs smirked.

"You'd hit a wounded man?"

"Yes. Are you hungry?"

"Starved. Where's my Beretta?"

Rose reached around to the small of her back and her hand reappeared holding Jethro's handgun. She handed it to him. He gave Rose a surprised smile.

"Thanks. Can you use that?"

"Of course. I'll go get you something to eat."

Rose went into the house and Gibbs looked around. The jungle was cleared back about twenty yards. Some chickens and goats were wandering around. He leaned back in the chair. It felt good to be alive. Rose came back with a plate piled high with _carne asada, frijoles and tamales_. She sat and watched amused as Gibbs demolished his meal. Sitting back he sighed.

"I don't suppose you have any coffee?"

Rose laughed.

"Of course, this _is _Colombia after all."

She came back with a large tin cup of coffee.

"I'm sorry; there is no milk or sugar."

Gibbs smiled.

"_Out in the boonies lad, sugar and milk can be hard to come by."_

"No problem, I drink it black."

"My father is the same way."

"Where is he? I'd like to thank him for helping me."

"He will be back soon. He went to my uncle's house to return the cart."

Gibbs sipped his coffee and watched the jungle.

"Why did you start working with us?"

Rose looked at him sharply.

"I have my reasons."

"Okay, sorry, didn't mean to pry."

Rose's face softened.

"I didn't mean to snap at you. Gonzalez was a pig. He would send his men out into the villages to bring girls back to the _hacienda _to 'work'. It was my turn last month. After, one of my friends dates a policeman. She introduced me to him. One thing led to another and I started to work with 'John'."

While Rose was talking Gibbs' face got harder and harder. He could imagine the kind of 'work' performed.

_Now I'm really glad I killed him._

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"John?"

Rose shrugged.

"That's what he calls himself. I don't think that is his real name. I gave him information on the workings of the house. And I had to contact him whenever Gonzalez showed up."

Rose fiddled with her fingers and said lowly, "I'm glad you killed him."

Gibbs decided to let that comment pass. Noise came from the front of the house and Jethro snatched up his 92F.

"It's all right, it's my father."

Rose stood going into the house. Gibbs returned the pistol to the table. Rose came back out with her father. Gibbs stood, cleared his throat and said in his elementary Spanish, "Thank you for helping me sir."

Rose looked surprised and her dad smiled.

"You're very welcome young man."

The two men shook hands and Rose's dad went back in the house.

"You speak Spanish?"

Gibbs grinned.

"I've been operating in Central and South America for a few years now off and on. You pick up things. I'm okay if you talk slow."

Over the next several hours, Gibbs took a nap, ate again and sat and talked with Rose and her dad. Once it got dark, Gibbs shifted in his chair.

"Rose, I don't suppose you have a rifle or anything like that?"

Though he had his M40, a bolt action rifle is not something he would want to use if things went sideways later.

"Si, I'll be right back."

Rose came back with an M-1 Carbine, a thirty round banana clip in the magazine well. Developed during WWII the M-1 was issued to vehicle crews and officers. Its .30 caliber round was underpowered for the man-killing trade.

_Better than nothing._

At about 2130, Gibbs thought he saw a vague movement in the tree line. He casually adjusted the M-1 so the barrel was pointed there. Rose was sitting across from him, her back to the jungle. Smiling, Gibbs gestured to Rose and spoke without moving his lips.

"Rose get up, laugh and come around here standing between me and your dad. If I start shooting knock your dad over and stay down."

Rose stood and laughed as told.

"What's the matter?"

Still not moving his lips, Gibbs spoke.

"Someone's in the tree line."

"Cartel?"

"Unknown. Come over here."

Rose stood next to Gibbs, put her hand on his shoulder and laughed again. Jethro casually placed his hand on the stock of the M-1. Rose looked at him.

"Can you fire that one-handed?"

"I guess we may find out", Gibbs said evenly.

Just then, a distinctly American voice came out of the tree line.

"Don't shoot cowboy, friendlies comin' out!"

Four men materialized out of the jungle, wearing unmarked cammo uniforms and carrying H&K MP5SD's. Gibbs watched them come not taking his hand off the M-1. The guy in the middle looked familiar. Even with his face blackened the guy tripped Gibbs memory.

_He looks like Lee Marvin._

"You Gibbs?"

"That'd be me."

"Name's John. We've gotta get moving. Can you travel?"

_If your name's John, I'm the Queen of the May._

"Sure."

Gibbs gestured to his ruck and other gear.

"Lemme get rucked up and we can go."

John eyed Gibbs' shoulder and arm and gestured to one of his men.

"Grab the Gunny's gear."

The man picked up Jethro's gear and headed towards the tree line along with the other two men.

"C'mon Gibbs, we've got a bus to catch."

"Give me a minute. Have you got a pencil and a piece of paper?"

John gave him a puzzled look but gave Jethro a 3x5 notebook and the stub of a pencil.

Gibbs gently took Rose's elbow and moved away from John.

"I want to thank you again for helping me."

"It was nothing. You helped us more than you'll ever know."

Gibbs wrote something on the pad, then ripped out the page, handing it to Rose. She looked down.

"817-65-7320 G?'

"It's my service number. The "G" is so I'll know it's you. If you ever need help, find a Marine and give him the number. He'll help you. We take care of our own."

"C'mon Gibbs, we gotta di-di."

Gibbs leaned and kissed Rose on the cheek.

"So long Rose."

With that the Marine and his companion faded off into the jungle. Rose carefully folded the paper and put it in her pocket.

**A/N: **I hope this chapter does better than the last one. And I hope **5Snowflakes **thinks it was worth the wait. As for the rest of you (especially all you lurkers out there), how 'bout a review?


	34. Attention To Detail

**Disclaimer: This work of fan fiction is mine alone. Sure there are characters that have been created by someone else. **_**But, **_**this is my take on what they've done or will do. No copyright infringement is meant. I promise to return these characters in pristine condition when I'm done.**

**Authors Note: **About six months ago I wrote a chapter about Gibbs and Shannon for this story called 'Even Now'. People seemed to like it, so I figured to write one about Gibbs and Kelly. It took a while for an idea to come to me, but my muse finally came through. This story takes place prior to Gibbs being deployed for Operation Desert Shield/Storm. The US started sending units to Saudi in August of 1990. It's logical to assume (yeah, I know) that the various special ops units would be the first to go.

**The Gibbs residence, Base Housing, Camp Pendleton MCB, Friday July 20, 1990 1813hrs**

Gunnery Sergeant Leroy Jethro Gibbs was sitting at the picnic table in his backyard organizing his shoe shining supplies. Tomorrow, Saturday there was going to be a command inspection. Even hush-hush covert units stand inspection. Especially if they're _Marine_ covert units. So Gibbs was preparing to spit shine his black low quarter shoes. He had two tins of black Kiwi brand polish, a disposable lighter, a few scraps of an old t-shirt, a small bowl of water, a shining brush and a buffing cloth. His low quarters looked _good_, but they could _be better_.

_Attention to detail._

It got drummed into him at boot camp on Parris Island. The tiniest mistake could lead to pushups. _Many, many_ pushups. Like all teenagers Jethro was an unorganized mess. Senior Drill Instructor Gunnery Sergeant Michael Davis fixed that problem.

_Attention to detail._

Sniper School, Airborne School and the Combat Diver Qualification Course further reinforced the theme. Fail to camouflage properly and the instructors would find your hide and you'd be out of the course. Fail to fall properly or not rig your gear properly and Sergeant Airborne or the hard ground would show you the error of your ways. Fail to rig your dive gear properly and you would _die._ Nothing like being able to breathe in oxygen rather than water to motivate.

Gibbs considered himself lucky; he'd enlisted at the tail end of the time when individual Marines still did their own laundry. Screw up and your week's laundry wound up in a heap on the company street with DI's walking on it.

_Attention to detail._

That's why even today Gibbs still does his own laundry at home. Shannon Gibbs is a disaster with an iron. God bless her, she tried, but an iron shaped burn mark on one of his khaki shirts put an end to her doing his laundry.

So, things like shining shoes, cleaning weapons and ironing were things that were calming for Gibbs. It was his alone time. Shannon was cleaning up after dinner and his seven year old Kelly was playing with a friend out front.

Gibbs took the lids off the two tins of polish. Most Marines nowadays wore Corfam shoes. The artificial leather was glossy and did not need polishing

_Cheating that's what it is._

Every Marine had his own way of shining shoes. Gibbs melted the polish with a lighter before applying the base coat to the first shoe. He would let it dry and then continue.

"What'cha doing Daddy?"

Turning his head, Jethro saw his daughter standing near the back door grinning.

_Looks just like Shan when she does that._

Kelly was wearing denim shorts, flip flops and a scarlet t-shirt with the words 'Daddy's C.O.' in gold letters.

Gibbs returned the grin.

"Getting ready to shine my shoes."

"Can I watch?"

"Absolutely."

Kelly skipped over to the table and sat down next to her dad. When he was home Jethro tried to spend as much time as he could with _both_ his girls. But with Kelly, he tried to spend a little more. Normal Marines usually deploy once and then come home for a stretch. Being a covert unit, Gibbs' outfit could deploy multiple times a year or be gone for extended periods with no outside contact.

Gibbs took one of the scraps of t-shirt and wet it. He wrapped it around his finger, making sure there were no wrinkles. Using a circular motion he buffed the dried polish. It started to become shiny. Jethro stopped buffing and put some polish on the damp cloth. Again using a circular motion he applied a thin layer of polish rubbing lightly. The wet cloth kept the polish from sticking to the cloth and helped it stick to the leather. The thin layers of wax makes for a completely smooth surface that gives a glossy shine.

After Jethro applied enough layers he stopped. Kelly had watched the whole process avidly. Gibbs smiled.

"I'm ready for the next step. Want to help?"

Kelly gave him an elfin grin that made his heart skip a beat.

"Yes, Daddy."

Gibbs had her hold the shoe down on the edge of the table while he buffed it with the dry soft buffing cloth. When he was done, he took the shoe and turned it around so she could see herself in the toe cap.

"Look down."

When she did so, Kelly could see herself clearly in the shoe. She made several funny faces at herself causing Jethro to laugh.

"That's soo cool."

Gibbs smiled.

"Yeah, it is. Now I have to do the other one."

After finishing the other shoe, Gibbs put both of them in a plastic bag to help keep the dust off until tomorrow. He gathered up his supplies and put them back in their box.

"Daddy?"

"Yes princess?"

"Are you going to be home for my piano recital?"

Gibbs knew that in October Kelly would be playing in a school program.

"I don't know babygirl. I _think _I'll be home. But you know Daddy's work can cause him to leave on short notice."

Kelly looked glum.

"Yeah, I know. I hope you'll be able to come."

Gibbs smiled down at his daughter, giving her a hug.

"Me too. How about I put this stuff away and we go raid the freezer for some ice cream?"

Kelly grinned back.

"Race ya!"

With that, Kelly ran towards the kitchen door with Jethro bringing up the rear. For some reason he felt a pang of anxiety. Shaking his head, he followed his daughter into the kitchen.

**A/N: **As you may have guessed, this story came to me while I was shining my boots for work. Weird huh? Well, weird or not, I hope you enjoyed it. If so how about leaving a review?


	35. Not Always A Happy Ending

**Disclaimer: The following program is fanfiction based on the hit TV show NCIS. NCIS is not mine and never will be. I'm not making a profit; in fact I'm probably losing money.**

**Authors Note: **First I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everybody who reviewed the last chapter. I got all warm and fuzzy. Okay, now that that's out of the way, here's the deal about _this _chapter. A majority seemed to want a 'Nam story first, so I was researching in that direction. _However_, a muse is a funny thing. It goes where it wants. I guess you know what that means right? You'd be correct. A Boston PD story! Now, I'm from New Jersey and the only things I know about Boston are what I've read and researched on the Internet. So if you're from there, I apologize in advance for any inaccuracies. Feel free to point 'em out because I may visit again. In the spirit of why I started this story in the first place this is sort of a tag for the episode 'Witness' from Season 2. I saw it the other day on USA and it made me sad for McGee, 'cause I think that he and Erin would have been good together. _**Consider the foregoing your SPOILER ALERT. **_

**Charlie's Bar, Saturday February 19, 2005 1115hrs.**

Seamus Dolan leaned on the bar perusing the Daily Racing Form. Post time at Gulfstream Park in Florida is 12:50 pm, so he needed to make one or two more selections before calling his bookie. Dolan was up about five hundred dollars so far for the racing season. Today's card had several promising entries. Saturday was Seamus' short swing day. He closed the bar Friday night at 2 am and opened it at 10 am on Saturday morning.

Since he'd done a majority of the clean up after closing, this morning's work was nothing more than a lick and a promise. Seamus ran his eye down the entries for a turf race late in the card.

_Hmmm, this looks promising._

There was a horse called 'Tell the Facts' entered. No turf races in his record, but Seamus recognized the names of his sire and dam as successful turf runners. 'Tell the Facts' record at this point was two second and three third place finishes. Today's race at a mile and 70 yards would be his second distance race. In the first, he'd gone a mile and came in third. Encouragingly, from the quarter pole to the finish he was gaining on the leaders, a good sign. Today's race would only be seventy yards longer and on the surface both his parents were successful on.

_Worth a wager I'm thinkin'._

Seamus heard the doors to the bar open and the flame in the votive candle by the memorial wall flickered.

_First customer of the day._

When Seamus saw who it was that came through the door, he raised a mental eyebrow. Walking towards the bar was the newest member of Team Gibbs, Special Agent Timothy 'Probie' McGee. As always, he was neatly dressed in pressed jeans and a gray MIT sweatshirt. It was his countenance that startled Dolan. Tim had bags under his eyes and he looked like he hadn't slept well in days.

McGee'd been in a few times since joining the team. Mostly _with _the team. He drank Harp and Seamus joshed him that he should 'really step up to Guinness and drink like a real Irishman'. McGee climbed up onto a stool, his back to the door. Seamus opened his mouth to say something, but thought the better of it. He placed a coaster in front of Tim.

"What can I get you Agent McGee?"

"Jameson, water back."

_So much for not drinking like an Irishman._

Wordlessly Seamus turned and went to pour the liquor. He gazed longingly at the Daily Racing Form at the other end of the bar.

_No wagering for Mrs. Dolan's little boy today._

From scuttlebutt he'd picked up during the week, Seamus knew that McGee was the lead investigator on a homicide. It was a big step for the young agent and it went well, until it went sideways. A young woman who was a witness was killed and McGee felt he was responsible. Dolan walked the drink back and placed it in front of Tim.

"Thanks Dolan."

"It's none of my business lad, but do you really want to do this?"

"Do what?"

"Start drinking at 11 am when a job gets to you? It's a steep slope you're standin' at the edge of Timothy."

McGee looked stricken.

"I screwed up Dolan. I screwed up and now Erin is dead."

_Gentle or brutal? Brutal._

"Well McGee, that's the profession. It's not like insurance or sellin' carpet. We screw up and sometimes people, good and bad, die. The trick is to limit the screwing up."

McGee looked up from his drink, anger darkening his face.

"Hey…"

Seamus shook his head, raising a hand.

"No, stop right there. Listen McGee, that shield you carry does not guarantee you can save everybody that needs saving. Trust me, I know."

"But Erin…"

"Erin did not deserve her fate I'm sure, but it came to her anyway, even though Timothy McGee tried his damnedest I'm sure to stop it."

Dolan noticed that Tim pushed his glass away and was staring daggers at him.

_At least he's focusing on me and not himself now._

"I know you used to be a cop Dolan, but…"

"…But what qualifies me to talk to you like this?"

Calming some, Tim nodded. Seamus shrugged.

"Because out of all the one's I couldn't save, there's one that stands out…"

**Boston PD District C-11 precinct house, Gibson St., Dorchester, Tuesday June 13, 1978 1225hrs.**

Boston police officer Seamus Dolan, shield number 11026 was banging away on a Remington manual typewriter. He was completing a follow up report stemming from the burglary of a business owned by a Vietnamese family. The mom & pop store on Blue Hill Ave. was hit earlier in the week. Since the report involved Vietnamese residents, the initial report made its way from the second floor detective's squad room to Seamus' desk in the Community Assistance Team office in the basement. After poking around in the neighborhood Seamus thought he had a line on the juvies who did the burglary.

_Hopefully since I did all the legwork, maybe the d-techs'll get off their ass and do something with the info._

From his peripheral vision, he saw someone standing in the doorway. Dolan turned his head. Leaning on the doorframe smiling was his 'Uncle' Brendan.

"Well, at least my tax dollar is working."

Brendan Flynn wasn't really his uncle. He, his wife Anne and five kids lived two doors down from the Dolan's in Charlestown. Flynn was by trade a welder, but never seemed to be working at it. Money still came in though. The rumor around the neighborhood was that Brendan was with 'Whitey' Bulger. James Joseph 'Whitey' Bulger was the head of the Irish mob in South Boston. Seamus was a little surprised to see Flynn. The older man usually avoided cops like the plague.

"Here voluntarily Uncle Brendan?"

Flynn chuckled.

"Aye, it's yourself I was looking for."

Another surprise. The eldest Flynn didn't really have to much contact with Seamus since he'd become a police officer.

"What's up?"

Flynn looked pained.

"She's gone again Seamus."

The 'she' in question was Margaret 'Maggie' Flynn. Two years younger than Dolan, Maggie and her brother Sean were Seamus' best friends in the world. They'd been friends since first grade. Sean and Seamus played football and baseball together. Maggie was the sparkplug of the relationship though. She was the first to smoke cigarettes, the first to try alcohol (Jack & Coke) and the first to smoke grass. The last thing was what lead to trouble. Maggie went from grass to heroin. While Seamus was in the 'Nam Maggie'd been on and off junk. She'd been sober for at least a year as far as he knew. He'd seen her a month ago and she seemed healthy and happy.

"What happened?"

Flynn shrugged.

"I don't know. She left for work ten days ago and never came home."

"She was going to her meetings right?"

"Yes she was. And she was making it to work. She cleaned out her bank account. Fifteen hundred dollars."

Seamus sighed.

_That's a lot of dime bags._

Dolan chose his next words carefully, because he had a sneaking suspicion what his 'uncle' is up to.

"And you're tellin' me this why Uncle Brendan?"

The older man looked up at the ceiling for a few seconds before bringing his gaze directly into Seamus' eyes.

"I need you to help me find her Seamus. Sean is halfway through a 90 day bit in Chucky's Place (the Suffork County Jail in Charlestown) for some traffic warrants."

"Why not go to 'Whitey'? You an' he are pretty tight I hear."

Flynn smiled but there was no humor behind it.

"You shouldn't believe everything you hear bucko. Besides things are a little complicated in that regard."

Seamus nodded.

_Meaning Maggie's dealer may be working for 'Whitey'._

Seamus leaned back in his chair. The only sound in the office was the dispatcher's voice on the city-wide radio band coming from Seamus' portable radio. Flynn spread his hands.

"Come now Seamus Dolan, she's one of your oldest friends and me oldest daughter. Will ya help me or not?"

Seamus sighed. It really was a foregone conclusion.

"I'm in."

**The Combat Zone, three days later 2215hrs.**

Boston's notorious red light district was not as wild and wooly as it first was when Dolan was new to the Job. But you could still get killed for no good reason as a Harvard football player found out the hard way two years ago outside the 'Naked I' strip club.

It took Dolan three days to get a line on where Maggie might be. That was why he was standing on the lower end of Stewart St. across from a boarded up abandoned building. The building was allegedly a 'shooting gallery' and flop house for addicts.

"So, are we going to do this or stand around with our thumbs in our asses?"

The voice came from Seamus' backup for the evening. Carlo Napoli was a fellow police officer. They'd been paired up in the academy and remained friends after graduation. Carlo worked in the Cambridge District and had all the co-eds drooling with his good looks and immaculate uniform. He was not happy to be spending a night off in the Zone.

"Hold yer horses ya impatient guinea. We'll be in there soon enough."

"Fuck you mick. I could be cuddling up to a nice co-ed about now, rather than getting' ready to risk life and limb."

The banter was automatic and meaningless. Seamus rolled his shoulders.

_Well, no time like the present._

Seamus moved across the street followed by Carlo. They were attired similarly. Jeans, work boots, blue sweatshirts and watch caps. Each man was wearing black leather 'sap' gloves, the knuckles of which contained an ounce of powdered lead. They also carried four cell Kel-lite flashlights made of aircraft grade aluminum. Pushing their way through the front door they were assaulted by the smell of rotting garbage, urine, feces and unwashed bodies.

Carlo grimaced.

"Ah, the sweet smell of success."

"Shut up Nappy."

They proceeded through the first floor and basement, stepping carefully around holes in the floor and nodding junkies. The junkies wouldn't be the problem. It was the 'owner' they were hoping to avoid. Usually there was a guy collecting 'rent' from the occupants. Dolan and Napoli stood by the stairs leading to the upper floors. If she was here, Maggie would be somewhere above. Napoli gestured up the stairs.

"Lay on McDuff and damn'd be him that first cries, 'Hold enough'."

Seamus laughed softly.

"Ya always was a show off Nappy."

The two cops climbed the stairs looking carefully for missing treads. They finally found Maggie in a room on the third floor. She was curled up on a filthy mattress. Her clothes were dirty and her hair was matted. Seamus shook his head sadly.

"Ah, Maggie darlin', what have ya done?"

Seamus reached down and shook the shoulder of his friend.

"Mags. Mags, wake up we gotta be goin'."

The girl swatted at Seamus' hand.

"Go 'way. Leave me alone."

"Maggie, it's me Seamus. Come on, get up."

"Seamus? Go away. Leave me alone. I'm fine here."

Seamus could see Maggie's eyes were pinpointed and her speech was slurred. She was using a small duffle as a pillow. Instead of arguing with her, Seamus just picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. She started shrieking immediately.

"_PUT ME DOWN. Put me down ya shanty Irish son of a bitch!"_

Carlo picked up her duffle.

"Nice mouth girlie."

"Fuck you, you wop bastard."

"Hey, I resemble that remark!"

They moved into the hallway and down to the first floor. Maggie went back on the nod. They made it outside and crossed the street to the unmarked car that Seamus' unit used. Dolan gave the keys to Carlo and climbed in the back with Maggie. He held her in his arms all the way to Charlestown.

**Charlie's Bar**

McGee looked at Dolan and was clearly confused.

"So you brought her home and she got help and cleaned up. So?"

Dolan nodded and looked grim.

"Aye, she did all those things. And eight months later she was beaten to death by her ex-dealer over a hundred dollars she owed him."

McGee's mouth dropped open.

"Ya see McGee? Sure I pulled Maggie out of that hole. But eight months later, even though she cleaned up her act she was dead anyway. But I couldn't be there twenty four/seven, I just couldn't."

Tim looked down at the untouched drink in front of him. Then he looked up at Dolan. His eyes were wet.

"Do you still think about her?"

"Every day."

McGee pushed the drink away and stood up.

"Thanks Dolan."

"T'was nothing lad. You should go home and try to get some sleep. You look like crap."

"Maybe I will."

The younger man turned and headed out the door. Seamus looked at the clock behind the bar. 12:35.

_Still time to get 'em down._

Dolan walked to the bar phone to call his bookie.

**A/N: **I've got work coming up the end of the week so hopefully I'll be able to get the Vietnam story written. Before I go, I have a question for those of you who like the Seamus/Ziva pairing. Where would you like me to go with it? You can leave your ideas in the review for this story or just drop an idea. I'll _consider _all comers. Whether I write 'em or not is a totally different story.


	36. Heart Break

**Disclaimer: The standard disclaimer **_**still **_**applies. I'm not making any money doing this nor do I think that I'm doing anything DPB would try and sue me for (at least I hope not).**

**Author's Note: **This is the Vietnam story I was going to lead off with. Like the previous chapter it is also sort of a tag to an episode. In this case, the episode 'Heart Break' from season two. I alluded to this episode in Chapter 24 when Rachel Cranston talked to Seamus. I want to thank everybody who gave me input on where the Ziva/Seamus relationship should go. I've got a few ideas and I think that the people who've said they like this pairing will be happy.

**WARNING: ** Last chapter I neglected to put out the f-bomb warning. My bad. Soo, hide the kiddies, we are talkin' sailors here. Plus a couple of VC are going to meet an untimely demise, up close and personal.

**Dedication: **This story is dedicated to the sailors of the Brown Water Navy of the Vietnam War. Along with their Army and Marine brothers they added a shining chapter to the annals of the Naval Service. As anybody who reads my stuff knows I have a deep and abiding respect for all veterans and especially Vietnam vets. So any errors I may make in this story are mine and no insult or disrespect is intended.

**Technical Notes:**

**Brown Water Navy- **Nickname of the joint Army-Navy venture in the Mekong Delta of Vietnam to stop infiltration and weapons smuggling. The first time since the Civil War that the two services undertook these types of operations. In existence from 1965 to 1970.

**PBR- P**atrol **B**oat **R**iver. Fiberglass hull, 32 ft. long (Mk II), powered by two diesel engines. Top speed 28 knots (32 mph). Used a water jet drive that along with a 2 foot draft allowed it to work well in the river environment. Was armed with twin .50 cal in a gun tub in the bow, a single .50 in the stern and an M60 machine gun and grenade launcher amidships. Crew of four.

**Dong Tam- **HQ of the 9th Infantry Division and a major staging area of the Brown Water Navy. It was built on 600 acres of reclaimed rice paddy on the north bank of the My Tho River (Song My Tho).

"_I wish to have no connection with any ship that does not sail fast; for I intend to go in harm's way."- _**John Paul Jones**

**Charlie's Bar, Thursday December 2, 2004 2200hrs.**

Thursday was payday. It was always a busy day at Charlie's. That was the reason Seamus Dolan did not notice NCIS Special Agent Caitlin 'Kate' Todd come into the bar. When he did see her, Kate was wedged in between a Navy Lt. Commander and an off duty Metro detective. The commander was trying to engage her in conversation, but she wasn't having any. As Seamus got closer he saw the look in eyes and it gave him pause. He'd seen that look before. Hell, he'd had it in his own eyes more times than he'd care to remember. It was the look of someone who'd taken a human life. Dolan slid a coaster in front of Kate.

"What can I get ya Caitlin darlin'?"

"Scotch on the rocks."

Seamus raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Kate was usually a white wine or tropical type drink drinker.

"Comin' up."

Dolan came back with the drink trying to decide what to do. The bar was too crowded to give Kate the one on one attention to get to the bottom of what was going on. Seamus placed the drink in front of Kate. She picked up the glass and tossed off the whole thing. Kate carefully placed the glass back on the coaster.

"Make the next one a double and keep them coming."

Dolan placed both hands on the bar and leaned towards the NCIS agent.

"Now Caitlin…"

Kate Todd gave the bartender a hard look.

"A double Seamus, and keep them coming."

Dolan sighed.

"As you wish."

Seamus moved off and he heard the commander say, "Well little lady, if you'd like…"

Dolan missed the rest as he went out of earshot. When he came back, the commander was gone and Kate was sitting on his stool. The off duty cop was studiously ignoring Kate and looking deeply into his own glass. Seamus placed the drink in front of Kate but didn't remove his hand.

"I'll be havin' your car keys."

Kate looked like she was going to argue, but she reached into her coat pocket and handed over the keys wordlessly. Seamus let go of the glass and took the keys.

"When it gets quieter, we'll talk, all right?"

Kate looked at the bartender. Like the other members of Team Gibbs, she knew he'd been a cop and served in Vietnam. She nodded.

"All right."

Seamus patted her hand and moved off to serve other customers. Several hours later the crowd dissipated and Seamus was able to talk to Kate. She was sitting with an empty glass in front of her staring straight ahead, a million miles away.

"Katie darlin', care to talk about it?"

Seamus' voice brought Kate back to the here and now.

"You were a cop in Boston, weren't you Dolan?"

"Yes I was."

"Did you ever…did you ever kill anyone in the line of duty?"

"Yes, yes I did."

"Ever kill anyone in the line of duty who didn't deserve it?"

Seamus looked puzzled.

"The three people I killed were actively trying to kill me at the time, so no."

Kate got _that _look in her eyes again.

"I did."

Seamus sighed.

_This was going to be difficult._

Noting the time on the clock behind the bar, Seamus patted Kate on the hand.

"Give me a couple of minutes, I'll be back."

Dolan went to the end of the bar and hit the main light switch on and off and announced last call. He did not go back to Kate until he'd cleaned up some behind the bar and closed out the till. Customers finished up their drinks and started to leave. Tommy from the kitchen started to clean the rear seating area and Rosie the waitress waved goodnight and left. Seamus locked the front doors and came back to Kate. He propped his foot on the shelf under the bar. His green eyes bored into hers.

"Tell me."

Kate then proceeded to relate the sad tale of Ensign Evan Hayes. By the time Kate finally wound down Seamus was nodding.

"Caitlin, I can see why you're upset, but the lad left you no choice."

Kate opened her mouth to speak, but Dolan held up his hand.

"I know he said he tried to work up the courage to kill himself but could not. Then you and Gibbs happened along and in his mind offered a solution to his problem. You think that by him telling you that he wanted to kill himself you should have tried to end things without him dying. By raising the weapon and pointing it towards Gibbs, he sealed his fate. He wasn't wearing a sign saying, 'Hey I'm just pointing my weapon, not going to really use it'. What if he decided he wanted to take Gibbs with him? You couldn't wait to see if he was actually gonna shoot Gibbs. You reacted exactly as you were trained to do. You protected your partner. Armed confrontations are no place for thinking. It's react or die. Hayes _made_ a choice, leaving you _no _choice."

"Gibbs and Ducky told me pretty much the same thing."

Kate looked at Seamus intently.

"Do _you _think I did the right thing Dolan?"

"Yes I do."

At this point Tommy emerged from the kitchen

"Hey Doctor Dolan, I'm outta here. You gonna lock up?"

"Yes, Thomas, be off with you."

Tommy waved and headed out the front doors. Seamus gestured.

"Come on Caitlin, I'll give you a ride home."

Kate slid off her stool and stood. The world tilted a little and came back. She grabbed the edge of the bar.

"Whoa."

Seamus chuckled.

"Stay there, I'll be right over." He shook his head. "Doubles."

Dolan took off his apron leaving it behind the bar. He came around and took Kate by the elbow guiding her to the front doors.

"Stay here while I set the alarm."

On his way to the alarm panel, Seamus grabbed his jacket from the coat tree by the entrance. At the alarm panel he keyed in the numbers and the light on the panel turned from green to red.

_Ninety seconds._

He went back to Kate and steered her outside. He locked the doors and watched the light on the outside panel turn from green to red. He tugged on his jacket, a black warm up type, with a large patch on the back. Like the tattoo on his forearm, it said, 'Mekong Delta Yacht Club'. Holding Kate by the elbow they walked to the rear corner of the small parking lot next to Charlie's. The fresh air was clearing Kate's head a little. Once near the rear of the lot Kate saw a vehicle under a car cover. Seamus removed the cover and started to fold it. Kate's mouth dropped open.

"This is a '68 Pontiac GTO!"

Seamus smiled in approval.

"Very good Kate."

"My uncle had one of these."

"Then your uncle was a man of discriminating taste."

They got in the car and Kate gave Seamus directions to her building. As Dolan pulled the Pontiac out of the lot, Kate leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

"So you think Ensign Hayes left me no choice?"

"That I do."

"But I think I had a choice."

Seamus sighed.

"As I said earlier, no you did not. And to illustrate that point I'm going to tell you a story from the ancient past…"

**Song My Tho, RVN, July 10, 1969 1545hrs.**

The two PBR's were on step, headed back to Dong Tam after a day-long patrol on the river. Gunners Mate Second Class Seamus Dolan was standing in the coxswain's flat shooting the breeze with his boat captain, Boatswain Mate First Class, Charles 'Grumpy' Grimes. Unlike their Fleet counterparts, Brown Water Navy sailors wore Marine style combat uniforms and jungle boots. Also instead of the 'Dixie cup' style white hat, they wore black berets. Popular too, was the 'boonie hat'. Seamus was wearing one that he'd worked so the brim was bent Gabby Hayes style. Grimes looked over at Seamus.

"So, you goin' over to the Texas Bar to see Linh tonight Red?"

Seamus grunted. Grimes knew that he hated the nickname 'Red'. But, because of his russet hair color he was stuck with it.

"Uh-huh, as long as we can get the boat cleaned up and not get called out."

"No worries about that. We've got a SEAL insertion tomorrow night. We should be off until then. How's New Guy doin'?"

Dolan was due to rotate back to the World the first week of August, so they were braking in a new gunner. Dolan closed his eyes for a second.

_What was the kid's name again, Fitch? Finch? Some fuckin' thing like that._

"He's doin' okay. He can field strip the guns, handle stoppages, and he's got the pre-mission routine down. All he needs now is to step into the shit."

Grimes gave a dark chuckle.

"That'll happen soon enough."

The other two crewman of the PBR were standing by their weapons. The engineman, Motor Machinist Mate Third Class Michael 'Walt' Disney was on the starboard M-60 and Seaman Apprentice Roscoe Smith was on the Mk-19 grenade launcher which was on the port side. New Guy was in the gun tub. Even though they were in the middle of the river and traveling about 28 knots all hands were scanning the riverbanks for movement. The two PBR's were in column separated by about two hundred yards. Seamus' boat was in the lead. BM1 Grimes nudged the boat's wheel keeping the PBR in the center of the river. Grimes glanced at Seamus from the corner of his eye.

"I talked to Lt. Baker. He said that a spot might be opening up in the armory, maybe next week."

Dolan grinned.

"That would be sweet."

A job in the armory would get Seamus off the river until he went home. Grimes grinned back.

"The only down side would be you'd have to cut your hair and trim back that Fu Manchu."

Dolan's hair was currently down over the tops of his ears and his mustache reached down to his chin. Most of the boat crews were given a little slack in the grooming department, but the support guys had to toe the line as far as haircuts and facial hair went.

Seamus nodded.

"I could live with that. How's your promotion to Chief looking?"

"The Skipper said the boards come out day after tomorrow."

"You gonna go back to the Fleet?"

Once promoted to Chief Petty Officer, Grimes would have the option to go back to deep water sailing or staying in the Brown Water Navy.

"The wife has been ending every letter for the last three weeks with the word 'FLEET'. What do you think?"

Grimes had a wife and two kids at home in Tampa Florida. Dolan smiled.

"I think you're gonna be 'haze grey and underway'."

"You bet your ass."

While talking both men were constantly scanning both the river and its banks. A PBR is made mostly of fiberglass. The only armor it had was on its gun shields and around the coxswain's flat. Speed was its only real advantage.

The boats swept around a curve in the river and both crews saw the sampan at the same time. It was just coming out of a canal and was on an opposite heading, making a couple of knots. There were four people in it, a papa-san and kid in the stern by a small outboard and two guys sitting towards the bow. As they passed, Seamus noted the two in the bow were military aged. He grabbed onto the forward coaming to brace himself. The rest of the crew grabbed something also, knowing what was coming. Grimes cranked the wheel hard over. Due to its directional jet drives a PBR could swap ends within its own length. Which it did. Now both boats cut their speed and were coming up on the sampan from the rear. Grimes edged away from the smaller boat to give them an angled approach. The other PBR backed off a little so that it could support them and watch the river banks. This would be the fourteenth boat they've stopped today. Grimes looked at Seamus.

"Do your thing Red."

Dolan grabbed the mike for the loudhailer, pushed the talk button and said in Vietnamese, _"Stop your boat; we're going to check your ID's."_

The sampan kept chugging along. Grimes looked over his shoulder.

"General Quarters."

It was an unnecessary announcement; both Disney and Smith were on their guns. Grimes turned back to Dolan.

"Tell 'em again."

Seamus rapped out the command with the same result. Grimes shook his head.

"Okaay then. Hey Finch! Fire a burst across their bow. DO NOT hit the boat. Got it?"

"Yes Petty Officer Grimes."

When Finch first got on the boat that morning, Roscoe Smith told the New Guy that Grimes' nickname was 'Grumpy' and that he really loved it. Nothing could be further from the truth. Nobody ever called Grimes 'Grumpy', at least to his face. Which is what Finch found out when Grimes ripped him a new one in a profanity laced tirade that lasted thirty minutes, during which Grimes never repeated himself. At the end of the rant, Finch was instructed to call Grimes 'Petty Officer Grimes' until told otherwise.

Finch rotated the twin fifties and fired a burst that caused the old Viet in the stern of the sampan to stop his motor and lift it clear of the water. Grimes nodded.

"That's more like it. Okay Dolan, let's get this thing done."

"Roger that."

Seamus grabbed the boat's shotgun, a Remington 870 with an eighteen inch barrel. He clambered up onto the boat's foredeck next to the gun tub.

"C'mon up here New Guy. Bring your 16."

Finch got out of the tub looking every inch the combat crewman, with a steel pot helmet and flak jacket zipped up. Seamus nodded at the two men in the bow of the sampan.

"Keep an eye on them. If they make a move, light 'em up."

Grimes eased the PBR up to the sampan. 'Walt' Disney swung the M-60 to cover the sampan. Roscoe Smith covered the river bank with the Mk-19. The other PBR was offset and covering both the sampan and the opposite river bank.

Seamus pointed to the old man.

"_Give the boy your ID and have him hand it to the sailor."_

Seamus swung the shotgun onto the old man while Disney moved to collect the ID's from the boy. Out of the corner of his eye Dolan caught movement and turned his head. New Guy had taken his eyes off the two men. Now one of them was pulling something from under a tarp. Seamus pivoted bringing the 870 to bear on the guy by the tarp. Time seemed to slow way down and his vision narrowed to the hands coming out from under the tarp. Dolan could see the buttstock and rear portion of an AK-47 receiver. From what seemed a great distance he heard himself holler 'drop the weapon 'in Vietnamese. As more of the rifle appeared, Seamus' finger tightened on the trigger. The shotgun discharged. The Viet was half standing when the full pattern of Double 0 buckshot hit him, flipping him off the boat and into the river. Dolan racked the slide and put the shotgun on the other man who was frantically trying to pull a pistol from under his shirt. Again Dolan from a long distance heard his voice, this time in English say 'Don't do it'. Their eyes met in that eternity that lasted about a second. Seamus could see the Viet wouldn't stop. The shotgun spoke for the second and final time…

**In front of Kate's building, 0234hrs.**

"So you see Kate, even though they were outnumbered and outgunned, they made a choice to fight it out. Especially the second guy. He could have raised his hands, but instead he chose to try and take somebody with him."  
Kate Todd sighed.

"I see what you're getting at Dolan, but it doesn't make it any easier."

Seamus got out of the car and walked around to open Kate's door.

"Even after all this time it isn't easy Katie, nor should it be. Come on I'll walk you in."

They walked to the building and Kate unlocked the front door. The two walked down the corridor to Kate's apartment. She unlocked the door.

"Thanks for bringing me home Dolan."

"T'was the least I could do. Good night Katie darlin'."

With that Seamus gave Kate a brotherly kiss on the forehead and walked away into the early morning.

"_But when Johnny come lately comes marching home with a chest full of medals and a GI loan They'll be waitin'at the station down in San Antone when Johnny comes marching home. Now my granddaddy sang me this song Told me about London when the Blitz was on How he married Grandma and brought her back home A hero throughout his land Now I'm standing on a runway in San Diego a couple Purple Hearts and I move a little slow There's nobody here, maybe nobody knows About a place called Vietnam…"_**- "Johnny Come Lately", by Steve Earle**

**A/N: **So, Seamus in Vietnam. What do you think? Let me hear it. I _really_ want to know. There will be more Seamus when the muse strikes me. STORY ALERT- November 10th approaches! Have a good 'un. GO JETS!


	37. Angel Flight

**Disclaimer: As always the standard disclaimer applies.**

**Authors Note: **This chapter is Gibbs view in 'Engaged Part Two'. I would have liked to do his and Ziva's perspective together like I did in 'Engaged Part One', but it wouldn't work. Hope ya like it.

**Spoilers: **See A/N above.

**Dedication: **This chapter is dedicated to the crewmembers of _**Red River 44, Texas Air National Guard**_, who paid the last full measure of devotion.

"… _I love my family and I love this land But tonight this flight's for another man We do what we do because we heard the call Some gave a little but he gave it all…."_**- "Angel Flight", Radney Foster.**

**Marine Corps C-130 between McGuire AFB and Andrews AFB, Present Day, 1130hrs.**

The noise of the four big turboprop engines made talking in the cargo bay of the C-130 next to impossible. This suited NCIS Senior Supervisory Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs just fine. He didn't feel much like talking. Gibbs was sitting on the port side of the cargo bay. His junior agent Ziva David was sitting on the starboard side with Lt. Flores. Between Gibbs and the two women was the flag draped aluminum GI casket of Captain Craig Quincy USMC.

Normally a member of the service killed in action in Afghanistan would be routed through Dover Air Force Base in Delaware. That's what 'The Book' said. Gibbs never was a big fan of 'The Book'. Which is why when Gibbs told Quincy's battalion commander that he'd be taking Capt. Quincy home, the Colonel pulled out 'The Book'.

**Twenty six hours earlier, terrorist compound.**

Special Agent Gibbs was standing with Lt. Colonel Steven Ayers. Jethro was sweaty, smelled of cordite and residual adrenalin was lapping at the edges of his system. Several yards away in the shade of one of the buildings was a body bag containing Capt. Craig Quincy. The company's First Sergeant and several Marines were standing around it protectively. His junior agent Ziva David was also standing there. Gibbs turned to Capt. Quincy's battalion commander.

"Colonel, we'll take Capt. Quincy back with us along with Lt. Flores.'

The colonel frowned. He was not a big fan of NCIS. He was even less of a fan of civilians who told him what _they _were going to do.

"Well Special Agent Gibbs, there are procedures for handling the remains of KIA's and we're gonna follow them."

Jethro sighed. In the distance he could hear the double rotor beat of a CH-46 dopplering towards them

_This is no time to butt heads with this guy._

Gibbs pulled a satellite phone from his pocket and extended the antenna. This time he _did_ have the Commandant of the Marine Corps on speed dial. He punched a button. After just two rings a voice answered.

"_5428."_

"This is Special Agent Gibbs. I need to talk to the Commandant please."

Col. Ayers eyes widened.

"_Wait one Agent Gibbs."_

There was the sound of muffled conversation, and then the line cleared.

"_General Ellison."_

Gibbs involuntarily stiffened to attention.

"Sir, I'm here with Colonel Ayers. As you are aware, Capt. Craig Quincy was killed during our raid. I want to bring the captain back with me. However, there seem to be some, ah, _procedural _problems."

"_Is that so? Put the good colonel on the line Agent Gibbs."_

"Yes Sir."

Gibbs smirked and held the phone out to Col. Ayers.

"General Ellison wants to speak to you."

Col. Ayers reached for the phone like it was a live grenade. He put the phone to his ear.

"Yes Sir?"

The conversation was brief and pretty one sided with only a couple of 'Aye-Aye Sir's 'being uttered by the colonel. Finally he handed the phone back to Gibbs.

"He wants to speak to you."

"Sir?"

"_This should put an end to any problems. I'll get in touch with the various commands ahead of you."_

"Thank you sir. Some of Capt. Quincy's men would like to escort him to Kabul."

_"I don't see a problem with that."_

"Thank you sir."

"_Carry on Gibbs."_

"Aye-Aye Sir."

Jethro broke the connection and folded up his phone. During the conversation with the Commandant, the CH-46 landed and shut down. Capt. Quincy's company gathered, creating a corridor running from the rear ramp of the helicopter to the area just in front of his body bag. Quincy's XO stepped up to Col. Ayers and saluted.

"With your permission sir?"

Col. Ayers returned the salute.

"Carry on Lieutenant."

The XO returned to his position near the body bag. He nodded to the First Sergeant. The First Sergeant said a few quiet words to the four men around the body bag and they picked it up by the corners. The XO's voice rang out.

"_COMPANEEE, PRESENT ARMS!"_

The Marines of Charlie Company snapped to. Then the First Sergeant's voice was heard.

"Detail, Forward March."

Captain Craig Quincy USMC started his long journey home past the members of his company. Somewhere off to the left a harmonica started playing "Red River Valley".

**C-130**

Gibbs came back to the present when the aircraft's loadmaster touched him on the shoulder and leaned in next to his ear.

"We're twenty minutes out, sir."

"Thanks Sergeant."

The loadmaster retreated to his position towards the front of the aircraft. Jethro leaned back in the web seat. The vibration of the airframe helping him to stay awake.

_I really __**am **__getting too old for this shit._

All during the case he'd been having flashbacks of his time at Camp Lejuene in 1977. That's where he'd met Private Joan Matteson. Gibbs was waiting to go on his first 'float' and Private Matteson was awaiting her first assignment also. They'd had a friendly rivalry over PT scores and Gibbs felt himself being attracted to the spunky female Marine. But she'd shipped out before him, being sent to Okinawa, where she was killed in a helicopter crash. She was buried at the National Cemetery in Quantico.

_I should go see her when we get back._

Feeling eyes on him he looked up. Ziva was watching him, a look of concern on her face. Jethro gave her a small smile and she raised an eyebrow. He shook his head in a small negative gesture and she shrugged slightly. After the firefight, Gibbs noticed she'd been very quiet and a little withdrawn.

_Gonna have to keep an eye on her._

Soon they were on the ground at Andrews and taxiing. When they finally stopped the engines spooled down and the loadmaster lowered the rear ramp. Light flooded the dim interior. Gibbs, Ziva and Lt. Flores stood and stretched. A body bearer detail led by a Gunnery Sergeant filed up the ramp. The Gunny stopped in front of Gibbs and Lt. Flores.

"Agent Gibbs, Ma'am, if you'd kindly deplane, we'll get things moving."

"Alright Gunny."

Gibbs took both women by the elbow and headed out into the daylight.

_There's still work to be done._

**A/N: **So, I've finished my take on 'Engaged'. That reference to having the Commandant's number on speed dial comes from the Season 1 episode "Hung Out To Dry" when Gibbs was trying to bluff the Recon Marine CO. A reader, with the moniker **Reader **bemoaned the fact I haven't been doing any Gibbs or Tony here lately. Hope this makes up for that some.


	38. It Is What It Is

**Disclaimer: NCIS is copyrighted material. It does not belong to me. I just borrow the outfit for a little while and put it carefully back unharmed.**

**Authors Note: **So I'm back. This story is Seamus-centric, so those of you who are not fans of this OC of mine may want to skip this chapter. I happened across the movie "Goodfellas" (one of my favorite Mob movies) the other night. This story is the result of me watching it.

**WARNING, some f-bombs ahead. You've been warned.**

**Crowell's Gym, Washington DC, Present Day, 1130hrs.**

Jimmy Crowell was a promising light heavyweight until he suffered a detached retina. Luckily his manager was his wife. So, with some shrewd investments and frugality, he was able to open a gym on the second floor of a converted warehouse. There was a boxing ring, heavy and speed bags, a weightlifting area and some treadmills for cardio work. Dues were cheap and Jimmy went from being a promising fighter to a pretty good trainer.

A few months after taking the bartender job at Charlie's, Seamus Dolan discovered Crowell's. In his teens, Seamus fought in the Golden Gloves back in Boston. He never lost his love of 'the sweet science', so he joined the gym and tried to work out at least three days a week. He'd hit the heavy and speed bags, lift some weights and maybe spar a little.

Today he was standing on the apron of the ring with Jimmy watching Manny Perez sparring. Manny was a promising middleweight that Crowell was bringing along. Some of the local boxing writers were comparing the kid to Roberto Duran when he fought as a middleweight. Crowell, who was dressed in his usual grey sweatpants and white t-shirt looked at Seamus out of the corner of his eye.

"You find yourself a woman finally Dolan?"

Seamus turned his head slowly towards Crowell.

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, over the last four, five months, you've been in here three days a week like clockwork. 'Afore that, not so much. I figger you musta found yourself a woman."

"So, because I got serious again about workin' out I've got myself a woman?"

"Well?"

Dolan laughed.

"Okay Jimmy, you got me. Yeah, I _think_ I've got myself a woman. It's complicated."

Crowell snorted.

"Only an Irishman could make something so simple complicated. _DAMNIT. _Manny, quit droppin' your left!"

Seamus looked back in the ring in time to see Perez take a right hand to the side of his head over a dropped left hand. Crowell shook his head.

"He keeps doin' that, his career will be over before it starts. So, since you're sorta back in shape now, when are you an' me gonna go a few rounds?"

Seamus and Jimmy would go a couple of rounds from time to time. No head shots in deference to Jimmy's detached retina. They'd gotten out of the habit. It sounded to Dolan like Crowell wanted to get back to it.

"Why, are the boys looking for a little comic relief?"

The young boxers who train in the gym always enjoyed when the two old warriors sparred. Crowell grinned.

"Yeah, they missed all the flailing around you do."

Crowell's smile disappeared as he looked over Dolan's shoulder.

"Say, I gotta go see this guy. Keep an eye on the kid for me willya? Remind him about the left."

Crowell hopped down off the apron and headed towards his office. Seamus turned his head. Standing by Jimmy's office was a guy of medium height with wavy black hair dressed in a very expensive looking grey suit. Dolan recognized him right away. Joseph 'Benny' Acardo. Being involved in the bar business you rub up against all kinds. Acardo was Jimmy Napolitano's 'fixer'. Acardo was accompanied by a guy about the size of one of the old World Trade Center towers. He was dressed in a blue track suit that barely contained his bulk. Acardo and Jimmy did not shake hands and disappeared into the office. The muscle leaned up against the doorframe, a bored expression on his face.

_I wonder what the hell _this _is about._

Seamus turned his attention back to the ring keeping his eye on the young boxer. After about five minutes, he heard Jimmy's voice raised in anger. The windows in Jimmy's office were painted over about halfway up for privacy. At floor level you couldn't see in. From the apron though, the office was visible. Jimmy was gesturing and looked really upset. Acardo was standing with a small smile on his face while he spoke. Jimmy started getting louder and Acardo's face was starting to lose its good humor. Dolan made a decision and jumped down from the apron. He made his way towards the office. Seeing him coming, Mr. Track Suit straightened up and moved forward.

"Where do you think you're goin' Pops?"

_Pops? Really?_

Seamus smiled and took a small step to the right; giving him a better angle to the large man's left side.

"I just need to tell Jimmy something. Won't take a minute."

"Him and Mr. Acardo can't be disturb….."

Back when Dolan was a rookie cop, an ER doctor at Mass. General told him about a nerve that runs down your leg. It comes close to the surface at the outside of the knee. Strike that area with a blunt object, say a nightstick and there is pain and the leg gives out. Seamus didn't have a nightstick, but the toe of his right foot performed admirably. Mr. Track Suit gasped in pain and listed to port. Dolan followed up hooking two quick shots to the big man's solar plexus. The air whooshed out of his lungs and he sat down hard. Seamus stepped over the man's legs and entered the office closing the door behind him. Acardo looked surprised and pissed.

"Who the fuck're you?"

Slipping further into the room, Dolan stood next to Jimmy and faced Acardo and the door.

"The Fuller brush man."

"Very funny. Listen, I'm having a private conversation with this gentleman. Why don't you butt the fuck out."

Before Seamus could reply, the door flew open and Mr. Track Suit limped in, a very pissed off look on his face and a large revolver in his hand. As if by magic, a semi-automatic pistol materialized in Seamus' hand. It was pointed more or less between Acardo and Mr. Track Suit.

"If anyone is interested, I have a carry permit for this." said Dolan casually. "And though it's been a while, I am still capable of shooting people with it."

Acardo raised his hands placating.

"WHOA, whoa! We were just having a friendly conversation here. No need for gunplay. Tony, put that thing away."

The big man hesitated breathing heavily. Acardo glared at him.

"Put. That. Thing. Away."

Reluctantly Tony made the pistol disappear. He glared at Dolan. Seamus' hand didn't move, the pistol still pointed in the general direction of the two gangsters.

"Wait outside Tony. Shut the door."

With one more blistering glare at Dolan Tony moved to the door and left. Seamus' pistol also disappeared as the big man left the office. Acardo stared at Seamus.

"You're that mick bartender from Charlie's ain't ya?"

"That's right Benny."

The man's mouth tightened at the use of his nickname.

"You know who I am?"

"I do."

"Then you know you and I are probably gonna have another _conversation_ some time soon."

"Any time Benny baby."

Acardo then looked at Jimmy.

"Think about what I said Crowell."

Acardo then turned on his heel and left the office closing the door softly. Crowell sagged against his desk for a moment and then rounded on Seamus.

"You're heeled?"

Seamus smiled innocently.

"Sure. It's a dangerous walk 'tween here and the bar. Lots of undesirables. Ya never can tell, they might try and steal my virtue. Have to protect myself ya know."

Jimmy snorted.

"Right. Are you nuts pullin' a piece on Acardo? Not to mention Tony 'Bats'."

Seamus looked impressed.

"So that was Tony Battaglia. Big guy."

"Yeah Seamus, _both _of them are big. Why'd you come in here anyway?"

"Looked like you could use a hand. Still does."

Jimmy sighed.

"I appreciate the thought. But this is something that you're not gonna be able to help me with. I gotta handle it. So, please Dolan, stay out of it okay? Please?"

"Jimmy…"

"I mean it Seamus, stay out of it."

Seamus sighed.

"All right Jimmy."

**Charlie's Bar, Saturday morning, 1035hrs.**

Saturday was Dolan's favorite time to work. Despite having to close the bar at two AM and to be back in at ten. There were rarely any customers before eleven and Seamus had the place clean usually in a half hour. This left him time to peruse the Daily Racing Form and maybe make a wager or two. Seamus was looking over the Gulf Stream Park entries when he heard the front door open. Benny Acardo strolled in like he owned the place. He was wearing a grey suit again. Benny took a seat at the bar, and Seamus after putting down his Racing Form moved over to him.

"What can I get ya?"

"Club soda, twist of lime."

Dolan walked over to the beverage gun, filled a glass with soda and added a twist. He walked the drink back to Acardo and placed it in front of him. Benny took a sip and regarded him coolly.

"Before I checked you out, I was gonna come in here today with a couple of guys an' have 'em do a dance on ya. Tony would've liked that."

Acardo took another sip of his drink.

"But, like I said, I checked you out. Two years in Vietnam with the Navy, twenty years with the cops up in Boston, a couple of years as a PI in Florida and now a bartender. I figure a beatin' wouldn't discourage you and clippin' you would bring down too much heat. I'm hoping that a civilized conversation might lead to an accommodation."

Seamus propped his foot up and looked at Acardo. He'd done his own checking out with a crime reporter from _The Washington Times_. Joseph 'Benny' Acardo was a 'made' guy. This meant he was a full member of the Mafia. When Jimmy Napolitano was younger and just had his own crew, Benny was just one of his guys. In his younger days, Acardo was addicted to Benzedrine, or 'bennies', hence the nickname. When Jimmy took over the family, he wanted Acardo to be his 'go to guy'. He gave Benny a choice, kick his habit and make money or never have to worry about anything ever again. Benny kicked his habit and became Napolitano's right hand. The one thing Benny couldn't lose was the nickname.

"An accommodation Benny?"

"Yeah. Look Dolan, your buddy Jimmy? He likes to bet sports. Football and college basketball. He's lousy at it. He's dug himself a thirty thousand dollar hole. That kid Manny Perez? He's the rope that Crowell's gonna use to pull himself out."

Seamus sighed. He knew the drill. Crowell along with his new 'partners' would bring Perez along. They'd set up fights for the kid with guys he could beat or would take a dive. Then when Perez looked like a lead pipe cinch, _he'd_ have to take a dive making a lot of money for some people. Acardo saw the understanding on his face and smirked.

"That's right. The kid's going to be a money making machine. He's got good tools and we'll bring him along right. The only fly in the ointment is you."

Dolan wasn't too concerned. His Makarov was under a bar towel by his foot. Besides, if Benny was going to kill him, he'd already be on the floor behind the bar. Acardo was rumored to have killed at least five people over the years. Rumored, because the five were last seen in his company and then never seen again. Seamus shrugged.

"So I'm a problem?"

Acardo shrugged.

"Yeah, sort of. People think we should just make you go away. I convinced Jimmy that might not be wise. I know that you've got some 'friends' over there at the Navy Yard. Jimmy still remembers his dealings with them. Plus you've had time to think this through. I'm sure there's an envelope someplace with all the gory details."

Dolan's face gave nothing away. In fact, there was an envelope. Seamus left it with the crime reporter.

"Lastly Dolan, this deal is beneficial to all concerned. Your buddy gets to climb out of his hole, the kid gets a shot at the title and people make money. Maybe even you."

Seamus opened his mouth and Acardo held up his hand.

"I know, you're not interested. Fine, but think about this. You make a stink, your buddy is still gonna owe the thirty large. Instead of a piece of his fighter, we'll be 'investor's' in his gym. You know how that tune plays."

And Dolan did. They'd start selling steroids, laundering money and when they couldn't make any more out of the place, they'd torch it for the insurance. It would kill Jimmy.

Acardo took a sip of club soda.

"So, are you on board Dolan?"

Burke's comment about 'good men doing nothing' filtered through Dolan's mind.

_Mr. Burke never met the Mafia though._

Dolan sighed.

"Yeah, I'm on board."

Acardo smiled.

"_Molto buona. _One last thing before I go. Tony is not very happy with you. It's been explained to him that you are part of a very important business deal. However, he's a grown man who is aware that actions have consequences. _Capisce_?"

Seamus nodded.

"_Si' capito_. I guess I should have somebody I'm not fond of start my car for a while."

Benny laughed.

"It couldn't hurt. See ya around Dolan."

The mobster got off his stool, dropped two dollars on the bar and left. Dolan stood near the Makarov for five minutes just in case. When no one came through the door, Seamus dumped the club soda from the glass into the sink. He put the glass in the glass washer. Picking up the two dollars, he put it in the sink and set fire to it with a match from the book he kept behind the bar.

**A/N: **I know that there has been a lot going on on the show. I promise I'm going to get back to the main characters now. Honest.


	39. 200

**Disclaimer: NCIS is copyrighted material that does not belong to **_**ltjvt1026**_**. If it did, things would be run a little differently around the old ranch I'll tell ya.**

**Authors Note: **If you read the reviews as well as the story, you'll see one of my 'regulars' asked for a little Gibbs/Franks interaction from **"Life Before His Eyes"**. This chapter resulted from that request. Overall I liked the 200th episode. However in my opinion there was a _**glaring **_omission. While writing this chapter I got an idea that would fix that. The next chapter will be that idea. So sit back and relax, you can even get some popcorn if you'd like. Enjoy the story.

**Spoilers: Really? Seriously?**

**Gibbs' House, Present Day, 0350hrs.**

His eyes snapped open and for several seconds he didn't know why he'd awakened or where he was. But then his brain engaged and he sat up. NCIS Senior Supervisory Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs realized he was on his couch in his house and that he probably rolled over in his sleep onto his injured shoulder. It was just a flesh wound, a long furrow across the top of his shoulder. His friend, the NCIS ME, Dr. Donald 'Ducky' Mallard hadn't even had to stitch it up. Just clean it out and slap a bandage on it. Rubbing his face, Gibbs swung his feet off the couch and onto the floor. He looked at his watch, and the illuminated hands showed him it was three fifty AM. Jethro grunted and shook his head.

_Should've followed Ducky's advice and took one of those painkillers before I went to sleep._

Gibbs grunted again.

_Who're you kidding Jethro? Since when do you follow anybody's advice?_

Deciding that further sleep would be impossible, Gibbs stood and made his way to the kitchen. He turned on the coffeemaker and headed upstairs to shower, shave and get dressed for work.

As he stood under the shower's spray, the events of the last twenty four hours flickered through his mind. The whole series of events in the diner had been surreal. The conversations with Mike, his mom and Shannon and Kelly had been almost cathartic. The conversation with that bastard Riley was a different form of catharsis. It just reinforced in his mind anyway, that putting a bullet in Hernandez had been the right choice. The look Mike gave him of his other self hiding in his basement was scary. Gibbs grinned to himself.

_Hell, I'm sorta that way anyhow, even after dropping the hammer on Pedro._

As he toweled himself off, the plight of the Rose's came to the front of his mind. Michael Rose was in some deep shit. And now his son Stephan was close behind. Thoughts of the son made his shoulder throb. He looked at the angry red furrow in the mirror and realized he'd never be able to bandage it himself.

_Guess I'll hafta get Duck or Palmer to do it when I get to work._

This thought brought a smile to Gibbs face. After the shooting and giving his statement to Metro PD, Gibbs drove himself to the Navy Yard so Ducky could work on his shoulder. The paramedics raised a stink because Jethro refused to go to Washington General's ER. Ducky had tut-tuted about him driving himself.

_Good God Jethro, what if you'd gone into shock?_

_I've cut myself shaving worse than this Duck._

After the ME cleaned up his shoulder and before Leon sent him home, Gibbs reached out for the AUSA prosecuting Michael Rose's case. He wanted to get to the guy before Metro did to put the best spin he could on the kid almost punching his ticket. Unfortunately, the AUSA already heard the story and really had the bit in his teeth. No deals for anybody. After hanging up with the AUSA Gibbs had stared at the ceiling for a good ten minutes before picking up the phone again and dialing M. Allison Hart. If anybody could help the Rose's it would be her. She'd been skeptical at first of course, but once Gibbs convinced her he was on the up and up, she'd signed on. His only request was that she not mention who got her started on the case.

As he stared out of his kitchen window, sipping the first of what would be many coffees this day, Jethro sighed.

_I sure hope today's gonna be better than yesterday._

**Constitution Gardens, adjacent to the National Mall, 0435hrs.**

The Vietnam Veterans Memorial is shaped like an open 'V'. One arm points towards the Lincoln Memorial, the other towards the Washington Monument. When he left his house, Gibbs fully intended to go to work to get an early start on his day. However, before he was conscious of it, he was pulling to the curb and parking his truck on Constitution Ave. Now he was walking down into the memorial, the black granite wall to his right. His hands were thrust deep into the pockets of his long black coat. Ahead, emerging from the gloom was another person. As Gibbs approached, there was the flare of a lighter and Mike Franks' face appeared. When he got closer, Franks squinted at him.

"What're you doin' here Probie?"

Gibbs shrugged.

"I don't know. Looking for you I guess Boss. I was headed for the Yard, but found myself here."

"Yesterday still on your mind?"

"Yeah."

The tip of Mike's cigarette glowed briefly as he took a drag. He saw the disapproval cross Gibbs' face.

"What? They can't hurt me now Jethro. Just 'cause I'm dead doesn't mean I'm givin' up my vices."  
Gibbs chuckled.

"Guess you're right Boss."

"So what's the problem Gibbs? You're back in the land of the livin'."

"I am. It's just…"

"Still second guessing yourself?"

"Some I guess."

Franks nodded.

"Well, yesterday was an illustration that your "gut" is not infallible."

Gibbs nodded in his turn.

"Rule 51."

"Exactly. That being said, more times than not your "gut" has been right on. Don't start over thinking things."

"You were right yesterday Mike. I _did _hesitate. A couple of years ago I would've put two rounds into that boy without thinking."

Mike grunted.

"Listen Probie, what I said yesterday isn't meant to slow you up. At some level I think you realized who was in front of you. You were damned lucky he was a lousy shot."

"I guess I am."

Gibbs gestured towards the Wall.

"Are you always here Mike?"

"Not always. Most days I stop here though. These are my guys and gals Probie. Roughly three million of us served in Vietnam. These fifty eight thousand some, made the ultimate sacrifice."

Franks nodded at the Memorial.

"My best friend is up there, along with a bunch of guys I served with, so yeah, I'm here a lot. Now Jethro, if it's work you need to be at, get to it. Drive on Gunny."

With that Mike Franks turned on his heel and walked back into the gloom his figure starting to fade. Gibbs called out.

"Will I find you here again Boss?"

Mike's voice seemed to come from right beside him.

"I'll be wherever you need me Probie."

Gibbs stood a moment longer watching his mentor's figure disappear. Then feeling better than he had when he woke up, he headed for his truck to start his day.

**A/N: **As I said up top, there's going to be another tag for this episode coming down the pike. How'd I do Bama?


	40. Regrets

**Disclaimer: I have really run out of clever things to say. Check the previous chapters and just pick one.**

**Authors Note: **On the whole I liked "Life Before His Eyes". The interaction with Shannon and Kelly was great. The turn with his Mom was the topper though. The 'one glaring omission' I mentioned in the last chapter was of course the fact Gibbs never talked to Jenny. I can't believe with all the Jibbs shippers out there, nobody tackled that. Well, I'm not a Jibbs shipper, but I'll take a whack at it. Hope you enjoy it.

**Spoilers: **"Life Before His Eyes" obviously, and the whole JD, Shannon and Kelly's death arcs I guess. So we're in the diner and Gibbs and Shannon have just finished their conversation…

"_Regrets, I've had a few…"__**- **_**Frank Sinatra, "My Way"**

**The Diner, Present Day, Early Morning**

"You should go talk to her."

His wife's voice brought NCIS Senior Supervisory Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs' mind back to the here and now. He was trying to wrap his head around the concept that Shannon had just shown him.

She hadn't seen the murder of the Marine back in '91. But Gibbs deployed and _he _was killed. So he was a little behind the curve.

"Her who?'

Shannon snorted.

"Who? What're you an owl? Jenny, that's 'who'. You've been eyeing her since you saw her earlier."

Gibbs shook his head.

"I don't think that would be a good idea Shan."

"Well, _I _think it would be a great idea. She really wanted to explain herself to you, but then it was too late."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"You've _talked _to her?"

Shannon gave him the original version of _the look_.

"Of course I have. We have lunch at least twice a month."

The revelation that his dead wife and former lover were now apparently best friends was harder to wrap his head around than the fact he would have died in the line of duty. It must have shown in his face because Shannon grinned.

"Out of everyone you've met after I died, she's the one I rooted for the most."

Gibbs' eyebrows were now in the general area of his hairline.

"Shan…"

From his left he heard his daughter Kelly's voice.

"I like Jenny too."

Shannon looked at her daughter.

"Kelly, why don't you go show your Uncle Mike the nice picture you just made."

"But Mom…"

"Kelly Ann Gibbs…"

"Oh all right Mom."

With that, Kelly picked up her crayons and picture. She clambered across Jethro's lap, planting a kiss on his cheek as she passed.

"'Bye Daddy."

"'Bye Princess. Love you."

"Love you too Daddy."

Kelly walked down the aisle towards the end of the diner where Mike Franks was drinking a cup of coffee. Gibbs turned to his wife.

"Uncle Mike?"

Shannon smiled.

"When Mike arrived and got himself oriented, he looked us up. I think he was missing Hope, so he started dropping by with little presents for Kelly. She adores him."

"Okay. Shan, I really don't get why you think I should talk to Jen."

Shannon sighed with exasperation.

"I don't know if you're dense or just stubborn. You have questions; she wants to give you answers."

Shannon reached out and took her husband's hands in hers.

"I've watched you Jethro. I didn't expect you to become a monk. But, I didn't expect you to marry three women trying to, I don't know, trying to recapture what you lost maybe? Jenny was the one I think. That's why you need to talk to her."

"Shan…"

"Gibbs, this whole experience is meant to show you what your actions or lack of them has done to affect you and those around you. You have to talk to her. Now, go on, git."

Jethro shook his head.

"But…"

"I know you love me and Kelly, Gibbs. But don't you think that it's time to let us go? Not forget, but allow yourself to move on. I want you to be happy. Talking to Jenny will help in that department. Now go on, go talk to her."

Gibbs sighed and slid out of the booth. He stood next to his wife. He leaned down next to her ear inhaling her scent.

"You always were smarter than me" he whispered.

**The Diner, Jenny's booth**

Gibbs slid into the booth opposite his former Director, partner and lover.

"Hello Jen."

"Hello Jethro."

_She looked good _he thought _damned good._

Mike Franks walked by, a small smirk on his face. As he passed, daggers shot out of Jenny's eyes towards Mike's back.

"_He _didn't suggest talking to me, did he?"

"Mike? Nah. It was Shannon."

Jenny Shepard smiled.

"She said she was going to try and get you to talk to me."

Gibbs spread his hands.

"Well, here I am. How come you're so down on Mike?"

Jenny looked outraged.

"He went thru my purse, cell phone and the glove box of my car!"

Gibbs laughed.

"You as good as told him he was expendable. He wanted to get as much info as he could about what was going on."

"He didn't trust me!"

Gibbs laughed again.

"And you're surprised by that why Jen?"

Now it was the red head's turn to laugh.

"Okay, point taken."

"Why didn't you come to me Jen?"

Jennifer Shepard toyed with the handle of her coffee mug.

"Because it was my mess to clean up. I set it all in train when I couldn't kill Svetlana. I wanted to keep you out of it. If things went bad, it would just be Franks and me in the jackpot."

Gibbs nodded.

"Plausible deniability."

"Exactly. Renegade director and retired agent. Things would have been messy, but manageable."

"More messy than you killing the Frog Jen?"

Jenny smiled tightly.

"You figured that out."

"Uh-huh. I recognized the marks from the ejector on the cartridge casing."

Jenny smiled tightly again.

"No 'Why Jen?'"

Gibbs smiled without mirth.

"Glass houses Jen. I know why."

Jennifer Shepard sighed.

"He may not have pulled the trigger, but Rene killed my father."

"Trying to convince me or yourself Jen?"

"It doesn't matter now Jethro. I think you have one 'why' left though don't you?"

"Two actually."

Jenny raised a sculpted eyebrow. Gibbs plunged ahead.

"Why didn't you tell me you were sick when I asked you?"

"Because there was nothing to be done. I had my diagnoses; the doctor gave me meds to help with the symptoms. There was no cure. When it really started to hit, it was going to be bad. That was the other reason I wanted to take care of Svetlana. If I failed it would render the illness a moot point. Also, I didn't want you to see me like that."

"It wouldn't have mattered to me Jen."

"It would have mattered to me Jethro."

"So you went into it wanting to die?"

"Not really. But if it happened, it happened."

Gibbs shook his head.

"Jesus Jen…"

Jenny reached out and grabbed Gibbs' hand.

"What about you Jethro? In my townhouse, if Mike hadn't shown up when he did, _were_ you close enough to the desk?"

Gibbs shrugged looking away.

"I was close enough…I think."

Jenny didn't look convinced.

"Okay, I'll let that go. So what's the…"

"Paris."

Jenny sighed.

"I was young, ambitious and even then I was looking for the Frog. I had my plan all figured out. Then you come along and the plan isn't looking like such a winner anymore. But I could always sense you were holding back. Like part of you wasn't there. Now of course I know why that was."

Gibbs looked pained.

"I wanted to tell you, to explain. But I would always chicken out. When I finally decided, it was too late."

Jenny grabbed his hand again.

"The day Morrow told me to come in and I saw you in MTAC, I really just wanted to get you off by yourself and jump you."

Gibbs smirked.

"Then what was all that '_there won't be any off the job Agent Gibbs' _malarkey?"

"That was common sense re-establishing itself. Couldn't have the Director boffing one of her Senior Agents. Bad for discipline. Not that you paid any attention to that anyway. You used to drive Cynthia nuts."

"It's a gift."

Jenny laughed.

"Whatever. Really though Gibbs, it's time for you to let both Shannon and I go. I know and she does too that you loved us. I thought that you had a chance with Hollis…."

Now it was Gibbs' turn to laugh.

"You sure didn't act that way then. I could feel the vibe coming off you Jen and it wasn't acceptance."  
"All right, there may have been some residual feelings coming to the surface there. She's only in Hawaii you know."

"Jen…"

"Okay, I'll stop. Think about this though Jethro, you deserve to have someone in your life."

Over Jenny's shoulder Gibbs could see Mike coming. He slid out of the booth and stood. He leaned down and brushed his lips across hers.

"It was good to see you again Jen."

**A/N: **So, my first effort at Jibbs and I guess you could say Gannon. What do you think? Oh yes, in case anyone was wondering, that song playing at the beginning of the episode? That was "I'll Never Get Out of This World Alive" by the immortal Hank Williams. You can find it on youtube, it's worth a listen.


	41. Another Authors Note

**SPOILER ALERT!- I'm going t o be talking about the season finale, so if you haven't seen it yet DO NOT read any further!**

I don't like to do this, 'cause I'd rather publish a story. BUT, I have to get this off my chest. I liked the season finale, even though the writer's kinda went cliché with the 'everybody gets trapped in the blown up building' plotline. I guess they did it so they could move to where the real NCIS is now located at Quantico. Where I draw the line is maybe killing Ducky! What is with these people? I was pissed off enough when they killed Mike Franks, but now Dr. Mallard? COME ON! There, I feel better now. Oh, one more thing, I am not mourning the departure of Dr. Ryan, even though I love Jamie Lee Curtis. Sooo, there is a story in the offing, but not about the finale, stay tuned.

LT


	42. Dead Weight

**DISCLAIMER: I Disclaim (Yes, I realize I've used this one before, but I'm feeling lazy)**

**Authors Note: **I've gotten a couple of complaints that I'm not doing enough Gibbs and Tony or the rest of the cast stories. Normally I'd refer the complainants to the appropriate department, but they are sort of right. So I came up with this story. It's got Tony and it's a tag to 'The Missionary Position'. Did anybody else think that Ziva's 'dead weight' comment was a little out of left field? She delivered it with no malice or humor, just like a statement of fact. Weird. Anyway, enjoy the story.

**SPOILERS: **Well, 'The Missionary Position' for one. Also going to mention Kate's death and Paula Cassidy's. This story takes place right before the 'Troubles' arc.

**Rudy's, Georgetown, Friday, Present Day, 2015hrs.**

NCIS Senior Field Agent Anthony 'Tony' DiNozzo was drinking. Not an uncommon occurrence on a Friday night. Especially after closing out a difficult case. Tony and his partner, Special Agent Ziva David went down to Colombia to rescue a Navy Chaplain kidnapped by a drug cartel. They'd been assisted by Ziva's mentor and friend, ex- Mossad and Interpol agent Monique Lisson. Thinking of Agent Lisson brought a smile to Tony's face.

_If Chaplain Castro hadn't been along, it would have been like a James Bond movie. Me and two beautiful and deadly women. Oh yeah._

DiNozzo finished off his Glenlivet and pushed the glass back. The bartender strolled over.

"Another round?"

"Yeah, thanks Nick."

Rudy's was a place Tony came to when he wanted to be left alone. Nick the bartender had no interest in his patron's problems. Since this was what Tony wanted tonight, he was not drinking at Charlie's Bar which was over by the Navy Yard. He didn't want to run into anyone he knew or talk to the evening bartender at Charlie's, Seamus Dolan. Tony shook his head.

_That guy has an almost Gibbsian knack for getting inside my head. Not what I need tonight._

What Tony needed tonight was to figure out why his partner Ziva David dissed him before they left for Colombia. Over the course of their partnership they'd had their ups and downs. The most famous or infamous down being the one that occurred outside Mossad HQ.

_I really thought I was gonna buy a round to the chest that day._

After that of course came Ziva's supposed death, followed by her resurrection in Somalia. She came back to America, became a US citizen and an NCIS agent. They were Tony and Ziva again. Back to their old form.

_At least I thought we were. Not so sure after that 'dead weight' crack._

The thing was, it was issued without malice, more like a statement of fact.

_And that's what stings the most. It's like the last seven years never happened._

Tony swallowed it, rode herd on the Chaplain and did what he thought was a credible job. Now that the job was over, the remark was eating at him a little.

_Rule 11 Dinozzo. Not working, sorry._

"Another Glenlivet Tony?"

DiNozzo blinked and saw Nick looking at him expectantly. He looked down and saw his glass was empty.

"Sure Nick."

The bartender stuck out his hand palm up.

"Gonna have to ask you for your keys. I know how you get when you step into the scotch."

Tony shrugged.

"Took a cab here and going to take one home when I'm through."

Nick looked skeptical. Tony raised his right hand as if taking an oath.

"My right hand to God Nicky."

The bartender pondered and then grunted.

"Okay Tony. One Glenlivet comin' up."

The bar was starting to fill up, but the seat to Tony's right remained empty.

_I must be giving off that 'leave me alone' vibe._

Tony sipped his drink.

_Ziva's not the first partner to underestimate me._

_Kate._

Catlin 'Kate' Todd came to NCIS via the Secret Service. She thought he was immature and a womanizer. _He _thought she was uptight and a bit of a priss.

_Until I saw the wet t-shirt competition pics that is._

Kate also did not think Tony was very professional. But she started to come around.

_And then she was dead._

As it did whenever he thought of Kate's death, Tony felt the spray of warm blood on his face. It only lasted a split second now, but back then he would zone out for minutes at a time.

_Must mean I'm getting' better._

Another thought struck Tony, stopping his drink halfway to his mouth. Paula getting blown up, followed by Gibbs telling the team Ziva drowned.

Special Agent Paula Cassidy was not by definition one of his partners, but she did underestimate him. Unlike Kate, Tony made a run at Paula (see Chp. 9). It was brief and intense. They parted friends.

_And then she was dead too. A trend and pattern is emerging here, and not a good one. At least EJ didn't die. The only one who came back from the abyss was Ziva. Maybe the Big Guy Upstairs is trying to tell me something._

Tony became aware of someone now sitting next to him. He also became aware of the scent of sandalwood. Turning his head, he came face to face with Ziva David. She was smirking slightly.

"Welcome back."

"How long have you been sitting there?"

Nick came up, putting a fresh drink in front of Ziva. He tapped the glass.

"Two mojito's worth."

Tony gestured towards the bar.

"How'd you know I'd be here?"

"McGee."

_That's right, I brought him here once. Drat._

"I could've been at Charlie's."

"I checked there first."

She didn't mention that she took great care that Seamus Dolan didn't see her. That was separate issue that she would deal with tomorrow. One drama a day was her limit.

"So Zee-vah, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I wanted to say I'm sorry."

_Didn't see that coming._

"Never apologize…."

"….it's a sign of weakness, I know. But I'm doing it anyway."

"Because?"

Ziva reached out her left hand and lightly slapped his face.

"Don't. For calling you 'dead weight' before we left for Colombia."

"Oh, that."

Ziva started to lift her hand again. Tony raised his placatingly.

"Okay, okay. Touchy much?"

"I shouldn't have said it. And, I don't know where it came from."

"Ah, it was probably 'cause you thought I'd horn in on all the fun you and Monique were gonna have."

At this point, Tony leered comically and rapidly raised and lowered his eyebrows. Ziva shook her head.

"You are a pervert."

"Nah, just a guy. I admit the comment stung a little."

_Well more than a little._

"But, I was right; she did have an agenda didn't she?"

"Yes, I believe she did, and does."

"Any idea what?"

"No, but I intend to find out."

"I bet you will. To show there are no hard feelings, how about a movie night tomorrow?"

Ziva looked aggrieved.

"Tomorrow is not good for me Tony, I'm sorry."

"No biggie. How about next Friday?"

"Next Friday is good."

Ziva finished her mojito.

"Do you need a ride home?"

"Nah, I took a cab here. I'll have a couple more maybe and catch one home."

"Good night then."

Ziva patted his forearm and gave him a small smile. He returned the smile.

"Night ninja girl."

Tony watched as Ziva eased thru the bar crowd like a leopard in tall grass. As she disappeared, numbers 19 and 26 from his 'bucket list' flitted across his mind. He sighed.

_Someday._

**A/N: **Probably not going to have anything else up by Monday, so I'll say Happy Memorial Day now. I saw 'Yankee White' on USA the other day, so the next chapter (which is banging around in my head) is going to be from it.


	43. Bad Moon Rising

**DISCLAIMER: It all belongs to DPB, Don McGill, et al. I'm just little old me trying to write something other people might like to read.**

**Authors Note: **Greetings people of fanfiction, like General MacArthur, I have returned. I know I said this chapter was going to be a tag for 'Yankee White'. My muse had other ideas however. Halfway thru the 'Yankee White' story _this _story came tumbling out. It is a tag, sort of for 'Til Death Do Us Part'. There is going to be another chapter after this one so be prepared for that. Enjoy.

**Spoilers: **Yup.

**########WARNING! WARNING! Some profanity ahead########**

"_Hope you got your things together. Hope you are quite prepared to die. Looks like we're in for nasty weather. One eye is taken for an eye. Don't go around tonight, Well it's bound to take your life, There's a bad moon on the rise."- _**Creedence Clearwater Revival, 1969**

**Benedict Motel, Rt. 1(N), Linden, NJ, 0105hrs. Forty eight hours after the bombing.**

Seamus Dolan was dressed to work. Yankee cap, black Reeboks, jeans, a dark blue long sleeved t-shirt and a jeans jacket. He was wearing thin black leather gloves on his hands. In his right hand he was holding a .22 cal. Colt Woodsman with a suppressor attached. Dolan was standing outside of Room 212. The guy he wanted was in there, hopefully alone. A hooker would be a real complication. The Benedict was three stories. It was built like a hollow square. All the room doors were exposed to the parking lot. Luckily said lot was currently empty. He needed to get a move on. No telling how long the lot would stay empty. Once he knocked, the balloon would go up and there would be no turning back…

**Charlie's Bar, three days before the bombing, 2120hrs.**

The days before payday were always quiet. There were only five customers at the bar. The seating area was about one quarter full. Dolan was wiping down the bar when he came in. If it had been busy, Seamus probably would have missed him. He was a little short of average height and his hair was brown. The last time Dolan saw him was just before he retired off the cops. By the time he'd grabbed a seat at the bar facing the door, Seamus was placing a Bushmills on the rocks in front of him.

"How ya doing Donovan?"

Frank Donovan looked up surprised.

"Holy shit. Seamus Dolan."

"One and the same."

Frank and Seamus were from the same Charlestown neighborhood up in Boston. Frank was six months older. They'd both been in Vietnam. Seamus in the Navy and Frank in the Army as a combat engineer. When Seamus got back, he'd knocked around some until he got onto the Boston PD. Donovan got back worked construction, was laid off or fired from several jobs. As this was the peak time of "The Troubles" in Northern Ireland, Franks demo skills came to the attention of a local recruiter for the Provisional Irish Republican Army (PIRA). In 1971 Frank Donovan left Boston for parts unknown. Over the years Seamus of course heard the rumors. Frank was 'building bombs for "the boys" and setting them off in Belfast and even in England.' Then in '75 they stopped being rumors. Donovan was caught by a surveillance camera setting a bomb that killed six British soldiers. As far as Seamus knew, the warrants on that were still good. Yet, here Frank sat, big as life. Donovan took a sip of whiskey.

"I didn't know you were in DC Seamus. Last I heard you were down in sunny Florida peeping in keyholes."

Dolan snorted.

"And the last I heard of you, you were still on the dodge for blowin' up six Paras."

"Ah, that. That was just a misunderstandin'."

"_That _was caught on videotape I'm told."

Frank spread his hands.

"Who're you gonna believe, me or a buncha lyin' Limey bastards?"

Seamus chose to let that slide.

"What're you doing in DC Frank?"

"Ah, a little of this, a little of that. How about _you_ boyyo? Get tired of detecting did ya?"

Seamus shrugged.

"Something like that."

"How'd ya wind up tendin' bar?"

Dolan grinned.

"Too lazy to work, too scared to steal."

Donovan laughed and finished his drink. Seamus reached for the glass and Frank placed his hand over it.

"No more. I've got to be goin'."

Donovan reached for his wallet.

"This one's on me Frank."

"Well, thank ye kindly Dolan. Before I leave maybe we can get together and swap some lies about the old days."

"Sure Frank."

With that, Donovan slid off his stool and made his way out of Charlie's.

**The day, 1141hrs.**

Seamus Dolan was standing in his kitchen when he felt and heard the explosion. He automatically checked the time on his watch. The watch was a Rolex Submariner. Dolan bought it in Tokyo while he was on his second tour R&R from Vietnam. Most of the SEAL Team 2 guys wore them, so Seamus figured it must be a pretty tough watch.

Dolan grabbed his keys and went out into the corridor. At the end of the hallway was a door that led to the stairway to the roof. Seamus unlocked the door and took the stairs two at a time up to the roof. There was a large black cloud rising from the direction of the Navy Yard.

_Son. of. a. BITCH._

He now knew what Frank Donovan was doing in DC. Like any one even remotely connected to NCIS, Dolan was familiar with the Dearing case.

_The bastard hired Frank to build a bomb. He was probably doing a final recon when he came into the bar._

As he walked back to his apartment, Seamus went over the encounter with Donovan in his head.

_Though he masked it quickly, he was really surprised to see me behind the bar. If he'd seen me sooner, he probably would have turned around and left. But he didn't so he had to stay and bluff it out._

Back in his apartment, Dolan turned on the TV and tuned to WJLA. They were just announcing the fact that an explosion occurred at the Navy Yard. Seamus watched until the talking heads and the video started to repeat themselves. He'd hoped for a glimpse of Team Gibbs, but that didn't happen. Since he still had about an hour and a half before he needed to be downstairs at work, Seamus set about cleaning an already clean apartment.

Once actually at work, there wasn't too much to do. The Navy Yard was evacuated and the security cordon started a block from the bar. Since there was a severe lack of customers, Frank the manager sent one waitress and both busboys home. Soon he too left. Before leaving, he told Dolan that the owner called and gave Dolan the option to close early if he thought it appropriate. Seamus grunted an acknowledgement and went back to polishing an already well polished bar. A plan was forming in his mind and it took him a couple of minutes to realize that someone was speaking to him. He looked up and saw the concerned face of Rosie, the senior waitress.

"You alright Seamus?"

"Sure Rosie darlin'. Why?"

"Well, you've been polishing that same spot for the past five minutes. And frankly the look on your face is scaring me a little."

Dolan looked puzzled. Rosie sighed.

"You look like you'd like to strangle somebody."

_Shit. Get a hold of yourself bucko._

"Nah Rosie, I'm okay darlin'."

The waitress looked doubtful.

"Okay, if you say so."

After several hours of only a few customers, Seamus had Darnell the cook shut down the kitchen and send Tommy the swamper home. That left just Dolan and Rosie in the bar. The TV in the seating area remained on, but there was nothing new.

Finally around ten pm Seamus couldn't take it anymore. He asked Rose to watch the bar and he went to the office off the kitchen. He sat at the desk and drummed his fingers on it. He looked at the telephone.

_He's probably _really _busy._

Last year Gibbs introduced Dolan to Senior Supervisory Special Agent William 'Billy Goat' Crawford. Gibbs and Crawford were having a couple of pops and Gibbs figured they should meet, 'both of you being squids and all'. Crawford was a former Navy SEAL (**See "Kill 'Em All, Let God Sort 'Em Out**) so he and Dolan hit it off right away. They'd gone fishing, to a couple of Nationals games and when Crawford wanted to buy a vintage 'Vette, Dolan went along to see that he didn't get ripped off. All Seamus had was his cell number which under the present circumstances was a good thing. Crawford was probably not at home. Dolan sighed.

_Fuck it._

He dialed the number. It rang twice.

"_Crawford."_

"Billy, its Seamus."

"_Now's not a really good time Dolan."_

"I realize that, but you're the only one I've got a number for."

"_What do ya need?"_

In the background Seamus could hear the sounds of construction equipment and sirens.

"Hear anything about Gibbs' team?"

Crawford blew out a breath and started right in.

"_Gibbs has broken ribs and a concussion. Abby has a broken ankle and bruised ribs. She was in her lab and Gibbs charged in just before the explosion, knocked her down and they wound up under her lab table when the ceiling came down. We just got 'em out about fifteen minutes ago. McGee was just leaving the bullpen when the bomb exploded. The windows blew in. Luckily he got his arms up in front of his face. When they found him he looked like a pin cushion. He'll pull through."_

Crawford stopped talking. Seamus' stomach clinched.

"What about DiNozzo and David?"

Crawford sighed.

"_For some fuckin' reason, they were both in the elevator. The car fell at least one story and there was a partial collapse of the shaft…"  
_"What. Happened. To. Them. Billy?"

Another sigh.

"_They're both in critical condition..."_

Crawford was talking about the rescue and then that apparently 'Ducky' Mallard had a heart attack down in Florida at Jimmy Palmer's wedding. But all Seamus could hear was…

_ Critical Condition. SHIT._

"I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch."

Billy Crawford stopped talking.

"_What was that Dolan?"_

Now was the time a former police officer and law abiding citizen would tell a federal agent about his encounter with a bomber three days prior to his bombing.

"What? Oh, nothing Billy. Listen, thanks for takin' the time. I'll let you get back to work."

"_No problem Seamus. Be seein' ya."_

Crawford broke the connection. Seamus hung up the phone and sat for fifteen minutes staring at nothing. Then he got up and went into the bar and told Rosie they were closing up. After she and the two remaining customers left, Seamus locked up and set the alarm. He went up to his apartment and called the owner and told him he needed a few days off. The owner said that wouldn't be a problem in light of current circumstances and that he would square it with Frank. Dolan thanked him and hung up. After changing out of his work clothes, Seamus took a roll of quarters out of a kitchen drawer and went in search of a working payphone. After several blocks he found one. Dolan dialed the number from memory. A recorded voice advised him of the per minute charge for the call and Seamus tripled the amount. The phone rang several times and was then picked up.

"_Yeah?"_

"It's me. Do you recognize my voice?"

There was a short pause.

"_It's been a while, but yeah, I know who this is."_

"I need a favor."

"_Now that's a switch. I usually used to be the one askin'."_

For the first time since 1141 am, Seamus Dolan smiled. On the other end of the phone was his boyhood friend, Sean Flynn (**See Chp. 38**). Sean's father, Brendan had been an 'associate' of the head of the Irish Mob in Boston. When that worthy had to take it on the lam, Brendan took over a leadership role, bringing his son along.

"Well, now you can reciprocate. Remember the guy from the neighborhood who likes to make loud noises and had a taste for foreign travel?"

There was a longer pause.

"_Yeah, I know who ya mean."_

"I need to know where he is right now and how long he's gonna be there."

_"_If _I knew or could find out, why should I?"_

"June '78."

Silence.

"_Okay, call me back tomorrow."_

There was a click and Seamus was holding a dead phone. Dolan went home, packed his AWOL bag with what he was going to need and went to bed. He did not sleep much. The next day crept by like a senior citizen with two arthritic knees. By six pm Seamus couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed his AWOL bag, locked up and headed to the Metro stop. He got off at the Union Station stop and walked up 1st St. to the Greyhound bus terminal. Dolan hoped that wherever Frank Donovan was, it was within bus or train distance. Bus preferably, as ID was not required to buy a bus ticket. Seamus found a payphone and dialed.

"_Yeah?"_

"It's me."

"_I'm really gonna be stickin' my neck out here."_

"I understand that. If you don't want to, I'll find him another way."

"_I didn't say I wouldn't, just that I'm stickin' my neck out."_

"Duly noted. So…"

_"Remember the year ya got home and we went to that Pats road game? And after we went to that bar my uncle used to hang out in?"_

Seamus closed his eyes and thought for a few moments.

"Yeah, I remember."

_"Well, he's in the next town south of there. The info will be with the bartender there. He'll know you."_

"I need one more favor."

_"Jeez, now what."_

"I need something quiet."

There was a long pause. The line hummed and crackled as long distance lines will.

"_This guy is a very valuable asset. A lot of people will be extremely upset if something _untoward _was to befall him."_

"Well, as far as I know, there's only two people that know that something _might _befall him. And _I _certainly am not gonna say anything. Besides, I would think his current employer would be first in that line."

_"That's true. Hopefully we won't have to find out."_

"Amen to that. So you'll have that item at the bar too?"

There was a pause.

"_Uh-huh."_

"Thanks."

_"We'll see."_

The line went dead. Seamus hung up and went off to buy a one way bus ticket to Newark NJ. Before going up to purchase his ticket, Dolan went into the men's room to alter his appearance some. From his bag he took a Yankees cap and a pair of non-prescription glasses. He donned them both. Then he stuck a small rock in his right sneaker. This would cause him to limp. He left the men's room and bought his ticket. Twenty minutes later he was on his way to Newark.

Five hours later he was in a cab headed for a bar in Elizabeth NJ. Quinn's was a couple of blocks off the Bayway Circle. Except there wasn't a circle there anymore. After fifteen minutes of searching, the cabbie finally found the bar. Dolan paid him off and stood on the sidewalk until the cab disappeared. He took off the glasses and ball cap. Then he removed the stone from his sneaker. He stowed the glasses and ball cap in his bag and pulled out a pair of thin black leather gloves and put them on. Seamus walked into the bar and up to the bartender. The guy wordlessly looked him over, grunted and reached under the bar. He came up with a flat box that looked to be 13x11 and about three inches deep. It was wrapped in brown paper.

"Any place I can open this?"

The bartender pointed to a hallway.

"End of the hall. In the room is a door that leads to the alley behind the bar."

"Thanks."

Seamus walked to the end of the hall and into the room. The walls were stacked with cases of liquor and beer. In the center of the room was a lamp hanging from a cord over a card table. There were several chairs around it. Dolan ripped the paper off the box. It opened like a pizza box. Inside was a .22 cal. Colt Woodsman. The barrel appeared to have been cut down to four inches and was threaded. There was a full ten round clip and a suppressor. Seamus placed the weapon off to the side. Under the pistol was a Hagstrom map of Union County. There was a yellow sticky note with the name and address of a motel on the cover. There was also a room number. A couple of pages were dog eared. There were stickys that pointed to the bar, the motel and the local train station. Dolan studied the map until he had the lay of the land. Then he field stripped the Colt, emptied the clip and wiped everything down including the bullets using a bar towel he found. After that he reassembled the pistol, reloaded the clip and screwed on the suppressor. Before putting the Colt in his bag he jacked a round into the chamber. He gathered the sticky notes and put them in an ashtray that was on the table. He burned them up using matches that were in the ashtray. Seamus left the map and went out the alley door.

_Time to get the ball rolling._

**Outside Room 212, 0107hrs.**

_What if he's not there? What if he's got a woman with him? What if…_

Dolan shook his head violently.

_Stop! Get on with it._

Seamus stepped close to the door and tipped his head down. Now, if Donovan looked out the peephole, all he'd see was the Yankee logo and the cap bill. He knocked on the door. After a couple of seconds he could hear movement on the other side.

"Yeah?"

Seamus lowered his voice and clinched his jaw to alter his tone.

"Dearing sent me. There's a problem with the exit plan."

This was the moment of truth. If Donovan bought it, he'd unlock the door and give Dolan a look with the chain on. Or he could shoot thru the door.

_50/50. Take your pick._

Seamus heard the sound of the deadbolt retracting. He backed up to the railing opposite the door, never taking his eyes off it. From the railing he'd have about a five foot running start. As soon as the door started to open Seamus would hit it with his shoulder and hopefully the chain would break. The door started to open and Dolan launched his six foot one hundred eighty five pound frame against the door. The chain snapped and the edge of the door smacked Donovan sending him backpedaling. He got tangled up in his own feet and sat down hard. He was dazed but the pistol in his right hand was coming up.

Dolan took two long strides into the room and switched the Colt from his right to his left hand. He bent down and hit Frank alongside the jaw. Donovan's eyes rolled up in his head and he fell back, out cold. Seamus went back to the door and stuck his head out. No movement, no calls of alarm. He grabbed his AWOL bag and closed and locked the door.

Apparently the Benedict had 'theme rooms' because this one looked like a jungle hut. Seamus found a chair with arms and dragged it to the middle of the room. Before hoisting Donovan into it he frisked him, finding a .25 cal. auto in one pocket and a Buck 110 folder in another. Seamus pocketed the .25 and tossed the folder on the bed. Using his Al Mar Eagle Classic, Dolan cut lengths of duct tape from a roll he'd brought in his bag. He tied Donovan to the chair, leaving just his right arm free.

Seamus picked up Frank's pistol. It was a Glock 17. He dropped the clip, ejected the round from the chamber, emptied the magazine and threw everything on the bed. Dolan dragged a small table to the chair and placed it on Donovan's right. He got a yellow legal pad out of his bag and put it on the table along with a pen. Donovan groaned. Seamus picked up the Colt. Frank blinked his eyes.

"Dolan?"

"In the flesh."

"What the fuck is goin' on?"

"You bombed the Navy Yard for Harper Dearing. I want to know everything you know about him. Where he might be, where he might be going. The whole nine yards."

Donovan laughed.

"Right, I'm gonna give up the guy who's paying me my retirement. Not happening."

Seamus gestured with the Colt.

"You've got to be alive to retire."

Donovan laughed again.

"What're ya gonna do Seamus, shoot me?"

"As a matter of fact, yes I am."

With that, Dolan fired a round into Frank's right foot. The sound of the shot was like a very loud clap.

"JESUS CHRIST!"

Donovan started to breathe heavily through his nose while clinching his jaw.

"You fuckin' shot me!"

"Uh-huh. The next one goes in your left foot."

"What the hell do you want from me?"

"Everything you know or have guessed about Harper Dearing, or I'll shoot your sorry ass to doll rags."

"He'll kill me if he finds out."

Seamus leaned in.

"I'm right here Frank. Your little display may have killed people I care deeply about. He _may _kill you. I _will _kill you."

Donovan got a crafty look on his face.

"So, I give up what I know about Dearing and what happens to me?"

"I leave you here after calling the cops. Once they get here you can try to cut a deal."

"But what happens when I tell 'em you shot me?"

"I'll have half a dozen people up in Boston that'll swear I've been there for the past two days."

Donovan got quiet.

"I thought you were one of the good guys Dolan, you know the white hats."

"Well, sometimes ya gotta change hats."

Donovan picked up the pen and started writing. He finished twenty minutes later. Seamus picked up the pad and skimmed the writing. A good investigator would be able to do a back trace with the material Frank wrote. Dolan laid the pad back on the table. Donovan shifted uncomfortably.

"You gonna make that call soon? My foot hurts like a bastard."

Seamus looked at Frank.

"I can take care of that."

Dolan raised the Colt and shot Donovan between the eyes.

Seven hours later, Seamus Dolan mounted the steps to the St. Francis Rectory. At the door he dropped his bag and rang the bell. He was dog tired. He hadn't slept on the bus. The door opened and Mrs. Ryan the housekeeper stood in front of him.

"Why Seamus Dolan, what a surprise. Come in, come in."

"Thanks Mrs. Ryan."

Seamus picked up his bag and moved into the hall.

"Is my brother around?"

"He's over in the church."

"Thanks, can I leave my bag?"

"Of course. Bring him back and I'll have coffee waiting."

"Okay."

Dolan went next door to the church and entered thru a side door. His brother Paddy was coming down the center aisle. He smiled widely when he first saw Seamus, but it turned into a slight frown as he got closer. They embraced as they met. Paddy backed up a step.

"Seamus, what's wrong?"

Dolan sighed.

"I need to talk to you in your official capacity Father."

**A/N: **So there it is, chapter one. There's one more and Ziva and some of the rest will make an appearance.


	44. STORY ALERT

**##################STORY ALERT###################**

After getting some whining (that'll be a five dollar fine, pay the cashier please) about the Ziva and Seamus chapters in this story I've decided after thinking on it some to give these guys their own story. I'm going to remove their chapters except for "What's In a Name", Chapter 25. If I took it out it would screw up the "A Man Walks Into A Bar" arc. I'm gonna just rename it and put it in the new story. So keep an eye out. For everybody who read and reviewed the chapters here, _**thanks so much. **_Remember, they're not going away, just moving. I hope to accomplish the move in the next couple of days. Thanks.

Ltjvt1026


	45. Run Through The Jungle

**DISCLAIMER: See the previous chapter for details.**

**Authors Note: **A lot of people liked the previous chapter, which made me feel all warm and fuzzy. Since I have _no _idea how the writers are going to treat the Tony/Ziva relationship in light of the bombing, this chapter was a little tough to write. Hope it came out sounding coherent. The profanity warning from the previous chapter still stands.

**Background: **Some people were surprised by Seamus' level of expertise. What he did and knew could be replicated by any street cop who knew what they were doing. During my research for this chapter I was surprised to find that there is a St. Francis church in Charlestown. Also, I know jack about Boston. I used Google Maps and some other sites. So, any mistakes I made about 'the Athens of America', I apologize for now. There is no connection between _my _St. Francis and the real one. If I'da known there was a _real _St. Francis I'da named my church something different.

**Spoilers: **For 'Til Death Do Us Part' obviously. This chapter picks up right at the end of the last.

"_Thought I heard a rumblin', calling to my name Two hundred million guns are loaded, Satan cries, "Take Aim" Better run through the jungle Better run through the jungle Better run through the jungle, don't look back to see."- __**Creedence Clearwater Revival, 1970**_

**Bunker Hill Monument Park, Charlestown, Present Day, 0940hrs.**

After spending thirty minutes in the confessional, neither Seamus Dolan nor his brother, Father Padrig Dolan felt like going back to the rectory for coffee. So, they strolled down Bunker Hill St. to Concord St. and on into the park. Along the way they talked of anything other than death or murder; the prospects of the Sox under new skipper Bobby Valentine, the relative merits of Bushmills versus Jameson, Magic or Byrd? When they reached the park, they found a bench and sat. It was a really nice late spring day. The Bunker Hill Monument rose 221 feet into the blue cloudless sky. If you hiked up its 297 steps you'd get a great panoramic view of Boston. There were joggers, roller bladders, and mommies with strollers about.

Seamus leaned back and stretched his feet out in front of him crossing his ankles. He was really beat. A woman jogger, her dark hair in a ponytail wearing runner's spandex and a Celtics t-shirt came from their right. For just a split second he thought it was Ziva. She looked to be in her late thirties**.** When she got closer, she saw Seamus was checking her out and checked him out in turn. She gave him a grin. Dolan winked at her and she slowed some. Then she noticed Paddy and her eyes widened slightly and she sped back up. As she passed, both men's heads swiveled watching her pass. Seamus sighed.

"Sitting with you is definitely gonna cramp my style."

His brother smiled.

"Sorry about that. Do you suppose it's a sin if I admired her rear end?"

Seamus laughed.

"Nah just proves you've got a pulse."

"Do you think they'll catch you?"

Dolan sighed. His brother would just not leave this alone.

"Well, I left the weapon at the scene along with the duct tape. Walked away from the motel after dialing 911 from the room and leaving the line open. There was an Exxon station a couple of blocks north on Route 1. I took off everything I was wearing in the men's room and put it in a plastic garbage bag. Left the men's room and a couple of blocks later towards the downtown area there was one of those clothing donations bins in a parking lot. I stuck the bag in it and boogied. I like my chances."

"But if they do catch you?"

"Then I'll do my time."

"Just like that?"

"Uh-huh, just like that."

Paddy turned on the bench to face his brother.

"It doesn't bother you?"

Seamus raised an eyebrow.

"That..?"

"That you killed a man in cold blood."

"Yes, it bothers me that I killed a fellow human being. As you well know I've killed three men right here in Boston. Even though it was in cold blood, it does not bother me that I killed Frank Donovan."

Paddy opened his mouth. Seamus held up a hand to stay him.

"Let me finish. Frank Donovan bought his ticket the first time he set off a device and killed innocent people. I just happened be the one who punched it for him."

"But isn't that society's job?"

Seamus snorted.

"They were doin' a great job of it weren't they? Listen, Frank was wired in pretty good. I'm willing to bet he was working for his uncle at some point, else he wouldn't still be walking around loose like he was."

Paddy looked skeptical.

"You mean the government would condone …"

Seamus smiled.

"…bombing? Listen, who better to get to do your dirty work than somebody who's already dirty? An' if he gets caught? Well, you fill in the blanks."

Paddy shook his head.

"So you think you're in the clear?"

"Too early to tell, but yeah."

"What are you going to do now?"

Seamus grinned.

"I was _hoping_ to crash at the rectory for a couple of hours. Then go down to Dorchester there and see Sean. Tomorrow I'll go back to DC and keep my head down."

"Do you think it's wise to go see Sean?"

"Every time I've come up here, I've stopped in to see either him or his dad. I don't want to break the pattern."

Paddy blew out a breath.

"Well, Mrs. Ryan will be happy. It's only Father Harris and I. Now she'll have you to fuss over and cook a big meal for."

Seamus smiled.

"A win-win."

**Blue Hill Avenue, Dorchester, 1415hrs.**

Sean Flynn was working out of a bar called 'Timmy's' in one of the few Irish pockets left along Blue Hill Ave. After taking a nap in one of the spare rooms at the rectory, Seamus borrowed Mrs. Ryan's Ford Taurus and drove down to Dorchester.

When Dolan was working out of the C-11 stationhouse, Blue Hill Ave. was the Wild West. It was a little better now, but not by much. He was glad he had the .25 in his pocket. It was better than nothing. Dolan parked across the street from 'Timmy's' and after locking the car walked on over. There were a couple of guys loitering out in front. They gave him the once over as he walked across the street. One pushed off the wall and went in the bar. Seamus nodded to the other as he went by. He pushed open the door and stepped in. Seamus took a couple of steps to the side and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior. There was a bar along the wall. At one end was a dart board, pool table and a juke-box that was currently spinning the Creedence Clearwater Revival cover of "Proud Mary". At the other end was a doorway to a corridor. There were booths along the walls and some tables scattered in the middle of the room. A guy was sitting on the last stool by the doorway nursing a beer. There were four or five guys sitting at the bar. Seamus walked up to talk to the bartender. The guy who'd walked in in front of him was sitting to his left. Big shoulders, rough looking hands, probably a bricklayer or carpenter. He was nursing what looked like a whiskey and soda. There was another guy sitting to his right. Twentysomething with red hair and dead looking green eyes. An empty shot glass and a half full mug of beer was in front of him. The bartender was a fat sloppy looking guy with a florid face.

"What can I get ya?"

"I'd like to talk to Sean Flynn."

The bartender looked around.

"Anybody know a Sean Flynn?"

Silence.

"Sorry mister."

The young guy to his right spoke.

"You a cop?"

"Retired."

The kid smirked.

"I thought I recognized the smell."

Seamus let that one go. He looked at the bartender again.

"Tell him Seamus Dolan would like to talk to him."

The guy at the end of the bar slid off of his stool and disappeared down the corridor. Seamus felt relieved.

_Feel kinda stupid if this was the wrong bar._

The kid spoke again.

"You'd better hope he knows you Pops."

_Again with the 'Pops' thing. Do I look _that _old?_

The bartender glared at the kid. Dolan turned to the younger man.

"And if he doesn't?"

"Then I'm gonna take you out back, stomp ya real good, gouge out your eyes and skull fuck ya."

Dolan shook his head.

"The cheaper the crook the gaudier the patter."

The kid looked puzzled, not sure if he'd been insulted or not.

A voice came from Seamus' left. It was the bricklayer.

"'Keep on riding me and you're going to be picking iron out of your navel'."

Without taking his eyes off the younger man Dolan spoke.

"Strong and literate. I'm impressed."

The kid was starting to get agitated.

"You fucking with me?"

The bartender scowled.

"Ryan…"

"No, he's been talking shit to me since he came in. Fuck him."

The kid started to get off his stool. It was the backless kind with a black round cushion that rotated. The four chrome legs were connected by rungs. Seamus hooked the bottom one with his foot and gave it a hard heave. The stool and the kid went over backwards. Seamus was on him in an eyeblink, knee on the kid's chest and the .25 up under his chin. The .25 wasn't much, but at this distance it didn't have to be. Seamus' eyes bored into the kid's.

"I've had a very rough couple of days, so I'm a little testy. I'm trying to conduct adult business. So why don't you just stay quiet. You might learn something."

Dolan then heard Flynn's voice.

"Let the boy up Seamus."

Dolan looked down at the kid.

"I'm gonna look up now. If you even so much as twitch, I'm gonna take off the back of your skull."

Seamus looked up. Sean Flynn was standing with the guy from the end of the bar. Sean gestured.

"Let him up."

Dolan got up, keeping the .25 in his hand. Ryan got up glaring at him, his breath coming in quick gasps.

"You're a dead fucking man."

Seamus shook his head.

"You haven't got the horses sonny."

The kid's hand started for his hip.

Flynn's voice came out quietly, but with steel behind it.

"Ryan c'mere."

The kid hesitated.

"Ryan. Come. Here."

Reluctantly the kid backed away and walked over to Flynn. Seamus put the .25 back in his pocket. Flynn gestured towards Dolan.

"This guy is a good friend of mine. A _very _good friend. Get me?"

Ryan nodded looking at the floor.

"Yes Mr. Flynn."

"Good. Now, remember that thing we talked about this morning? Go do it now."

The kid looked up smiling, nodded and left the bar sending a glare at Seamus. Flynn gestured to Seamus and he moved down the bar. They walked down the hallway to Sean's office. In the office there were two guys. One was half reclining on a couch that was along one wall. He was lanky, looked to be about 6' 2", had long blond hair and eyes the color of gunsmoke. He was wearing a grey summer weight suit with a white shirt, no tie. The other guy was standing next to Flynn's desk. He was the size of Gorilla Monsoon and wearing a red track suit with the Team USA logo. Other than Flynn he was the only person Seamus recognized.

"Hello Rollie."

Roland O'Connor smiled.

"Hiya Dolan."

Sean Flynn walked around his desk and sat down. He did not introduce the blond. Seamus sat in the chair in front of the desk.

"Why are you here Dolan?"

"Come to see my oldest and dearest friend of course, just like I do every time I come up here."

Flynn looked puzzled. Sure Seamus _did _always stop in when he was in Boston. But why was he in Boston _now. _Dolan gestured towards the outside.

"What say I buy you lunch?"

Sean now really looked confused.

"Okaay."

They left the office and the bar with Rollie and the blond drifting along behind. Seamus was heading for a Vietnamese place he spotted on the way in. Sean looked at him from the corner of his eye.

"What was all that jazz in my office about?"

"When was the last time you had it swept?"

"My guy was in yesterday morning."

"Is it the Feebs in the OP across the street on the third floor?"

"Yeah, it is. You're pretty good."

Seamus shrugged.

"Nah, there was a stray flash off the lens of whatever camera they're using when we walked out of the bar."

They reached the restaurant and Seamus pulled open the door and gestured Sean inside. They entered and Flynn sat at a table while Seamus went to the counter. Rollie and the blond strolled past and took up a position leaning on a parked car. The counterman looked at Dolan.

"What can I get you?"

He could have been anywhere between forty and eighty. But judging by the crows feet around his eyes, Dolan figured he was about his age or a couple years older. He switched to Vietnamese.

"_Two orders of Cha gio and two grilled pork Banh mi."_

The man looked surprised.

"_Your Vietnamese is very good. How did you learn?"_

Dolan switched back to English.

"During the past unpleasantness, I spent two years in your country. I had a friend who taught me."

"You Army?"

"God no. Navy. Dong Tam."

"You one of the _mau xanh la cay khuon mat _(green faces)_?"_

"A SEAL? Nah, gunner on a patrol boat."  
"I was VC."

"Not gonna piss on my food are ya?"

"No, no. I love Americans and America now. Great country."

"Good to know. Don't suppose ya got any Ba Me Ba back there do ya?"

The man shrugged.

"I am not licensed to sell liquor."

"Not asking for you to _sell _it. You could _give _it to an old war buddy who would then leave a generous tip."

The Viet contemplated for a few seconds and then turned to a refrigerator against the wall. He brought out two brown long necked bottles with a white label. There was a red oval in the middle with the number "33" on it. He handed the bottles to Seamus.

"Eleven fifty for the food. The boy will bring it when it's ready."

Dolan paid him and brought the beer to the table. Sean looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"I forgot you speak Gook. What's this?"

"Beer."

Flynn took a sip. He made a face.

"Jeez, it tastes like horse piss."

"You get used to it. Hell, at least its cold. Hadda drink it warm over there."

"Christ."

After about fifteen minutes a kid about fourteen brought them their food. Seamus handed him a ten.

"Here ya go lad."

Flynn eyed the two plates with skepticism. Seamus laughed.

"That one is fried pork spring rolls. The other is _Banh mi; _it's like a sandwich with grilled pork, cucumber slices, cilantro, pickled carrots and shredded diakon."

Sean took a small bite of the sandwich.

"Not bad. Okay, so why are we here?"

"Well, I figured because of our shared heritage this place probably wouldn't be bugged, your office might be. You say it was just swept yesterday. That's cool. You get lunch outta the deal and we still get to talk."  
Flynn took another bite.

"About?"

"I dumped Frank."

Sean almost spit out his food.

"_Jesus Christ. _Didn't I tell ya he was connected?"

"Well, now he's _un_connected."

Seamus then proceeded to lay out the whole thing for Flynn, including Ziva. Sean looked mildly amused and pissed at the same time.

"She must be something. So you put your life and mine on the line for her basically."

"Pretty much. Sorry."

Flynn waved a hand.

"I owed ya. So what do ya need?"

"An alibi for the last forty eight hours."

Sean leaned back and stared at the ceiling for a few minutes. Then he pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. It rang a couple of times.

"Hello Carole. Yes its Sean…I know, it's been too long…Yes, we should get together…All right, tomorrow at two…Looking forward to it…Right, bye."

Seamus raised an eyebrow. Flynn grinned.

"That was my 'entertainment coordinator', Carole Allen. She'll be at my office at one o'clock."

"'Entertainment coordinator?"

"Yeah. See we've got a place down there in DC where our local congress critters can go, relax, have a few drinks…"

"Screw." Dolan said.

"Yeah, that too. Carole was down checking on things a couple of days ago."

Dolan nodded.

"So we ran into one another, found out we had mutual friends and she offered me a ride up."

Sean smiled.

"You're pretty smart for a cop."

"I have my moments. And it's _retired _cop."

"Once a flatfoot always a flatfoot."

"Flynn, shut up and eat your lunch."

They were back in Flynn's office before one. Exactly at one o'clock the door to the office opened and Carole Allen walked in. Sleeveless black dress that ended just above the knees, about 5'6", shoulder length blonde hair, warm brown eyes and an easy smile. It was just Flynn and Seamus in the office.

"Hello Sean. Who's your friend?"

She had a husky contralto. Seamus liked it.

"This is my very good friend Seamus Dolan."

Dolan, who'd stood when Carole entered the room, moved forward, hand extended.

"Nice to meet you Carole."

She gave him a firm handshake that lingered perhaps a beat too long.

"Likewise."

They sat and Flynn explained the situation to Carole.

"So you need an alibi. What for exactly?"

Sean gestured.

"Need to know. You don't. What do ya say?"

"Sure, I'd love to help out. Where did we meet?"

After some discussion between Seamus and Carole about places in DC they both might know, they settled on a bar in Georgetown they were both familiar with. Carole smiled.

"Then what?"

"Well, I noticed your Boston accent and lo and behold, we have friends in common."

Carole nodded.

"Flynn."

Seamus smiled.

"Exactly."

"So…"

"So I've got some time off 'cause of the bombing. I feel like visiting the home folks. You kindly offer me a ride."

Carole's eyes sparkled.

"Do I have an ulterior motive?"

Dolan grinned crookedly.

"I suppose that would be up to you."

Carole looked him up and down.

"Well, I wouldn't throw you out of bed…unless there was more room on the floor."

Flynn let out a short guffaw. There was more conversation and it was decided that Seamus would spend the night at Carole's place and she would drive him to South Station to catch a train back to DC in the morning. Carole looked at Seamus.

"So where are you staying now?"

"St. Francis Rectory in Charlestown."

"What?"

"My brother's a priest. I borrowed the housekeeper's car to come here. I've got to take it back. Plus she's makin' dinner for me. So I guess you should come by and pick me up around seven or so."  
Carole shook her head.

"Unbelievable."

Seamus grinned.

"Ain't it though."

Seamus drove back to Charlestown and spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in Mrs. Ryan's kitchen sipping Jameson and watching her make supper. A roasted chicken, garlic mashed potatoes and green beans. Promptly at seven, Carole rolled up in front of the rectory in a powder blue Mustang convertible. She was wearing a Boston Red Sox t-shirt that looked to be a size small, a pair of Levis that might have been spray painted on and Puma running shoes. Mrs. Ryan was scandalized. Paddy was just grinning. After saying his goodbyes, as Seamus walked towards the car he thought he heard Mrs. Ryan mutter 'Hussy', but he couldn't be sure. He tossed his AWOL bag into the backseat. Carole, who'd been leaning on the passenger door, gave him a peek on the cheek.

"I don't think she approves of me."

Seamus grinned.

"Mrs. Ryan? I'm _sure_ she doesn't. I'm also sure my brother is going to get an earful after we're gone."

"Poor guy."

"Ah, he'll bear up. Let's go."

Turns out Carole's 'place' was a townhouse on Beacon Hill near Embankment Rd. When they pulled up and got out Seamus whistled.

"The 'entertainment coordinator' gig must pay pretty well."

Carole grinned.

"I do okay."

Once they were inside Carole gave him the nickel tour. The ground floor consisted of a dining room, gourmet kitchen, half bath, study, and a family room with a small wet bar. There were French doors in the family room that led to a small garden. Upstairs there were several bedrooms and a master bedroom. After showing Seamus which spare bedroom was his they returned to the family room. Carole went to the wet bar and held up a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label.

"Drink?"

Dolan nodded.

"Absolutely. Two fingers and a couple of ice cubes."

"Coming right up."

Carole brought the drinks and they sat on the couch.

"Sean told me you guys grew up together."

"Uh huh. Played ball, the usual."

"But you became a cop and he became a crook."  
Dolan smiled.

"Yeah, but he never held it against me."

"I don't suppose you want to tell me what's going on?"

"Nope."

"Okay. I don't suppose you'd care to go upstairs and ravish me would you?"

"Ah, no. Much as I'd like to, I'm sorta with somebody back in DC."

"Sort of with."

"Yah."

"Well, if it's 'sort of with', do you think she'd mind?"

Seamus thought a minute.

"Probably not. But I would."

Carole sighed.

"Story of my life. All the good ones are taken."

Dolan shrugged.

"How about Sean?"

"That's business. He's a great guy and all, but he's married. I don't do married."

Seamus grinned.

"We're not so different after all."

Carole grinned also.

"Sucks for me though don't it?"

The next morning Carole drove Seamus to South Station and he caught the early morning Acela back to Washington.

**A/N: **This chapter had so many moving parts that it looks like I'm going to have to do one more to get Ziva and the rest of the gang into it (you're disappointed about that I'm sure). That bit of dialog with Seamus and the bricklayer was not mine alas. The lines were written by Dashiell Hammett, who pretty much invented the 'hard boiled' detective style. How 'bout a review to let me know how I'm doing so far?


	46. No Woman No Cry

**DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Belongs to **_**THEM.**_

**Authors Note: **As you can see, any rumors of my passing are totally erroneous. I'm thinking the writers didn't put Tony and Ziva in that elevator for shits and giggles. _Maybe _they're going to move things along…._NAH. _I figure it's all a big tease. Ahyhoo, enjoy this. It took me longer than I'd like, but RL has a habit of doing that.

**Spoilers: **For the season finale (if you've read this far you'd know that). Still gonna be some bad language, so be prepared for that.

"_Good friends we have had, oh, good friends we have lost along the way. In this bright future, you can't forget your past. Dry your tears I say… No woman no cry, No woman no cry."_**- "No Woman No Cry", Bob Marley, 1974**

**Charlies Bar, Saturday 1210hrs. Present Day**

Four days after Seamus Dolan returned from Boston, the FBI apprehended Harper Dearing at an airport in Southeast Texas. Dearing was about to leave on a Lear jet. The plane's flight plan listed Miami as its destination. In reality, it was bound for Havana Cuba. The arrest was not without incident. Three of Dearing's security detail were killed and two FBI agents were seriously wounded.

When announcing the arrest, an FBI spokesperson cited 'confidential information developed during the course of the investigation' as the way the Bureau found Dearing. Three days after the arrest, Seamus was working his usual Saturday shift. A couple of customers drifted in and out since he opened at ten. Currently the bar was empty. Dolan had the bar radio tuned to WEAA from Baltimore, a college radio station that plays jazz. Miles Davis was halfway thru 'Move'. Darnell the cook, Tommy the swamper and a couple of busboys were in the back, getting lunch organized. Seamus was midway down the bar with the NY Times crossword puzzle in front of him. The Daily Racing Form held no possibles, so Dolan was doing the crossword. When he lived in Boston Seamus did the puzzle in the _Globe_. Once he retired and moved to Florida, he couldn't always get the _Globe_, so he switched to the _Times_, which was more readily available. He usually kept the section the puzzle was in and tossed the rest. He was not a big fan of 'the Paper of Record'.

_20 Across, 'basic tenet of democracy', eleven letters, third letter an 'L', seventh letter an 'O'._

Dolan heard the door open and the candle in front of the memorial wall flickered with the change in air pressure. NCIS Senior Supervisory Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs walked into sight holding himself carefully. Seamus recognized the gait, having had broken ribs himself a time or two. Gibbs moved around the bar until he could sit facing the door. Then he stopped and sat, lowering himself gingerly onto the stool. Dolan walked up, placing a coaster in front of the agent and raised an eyebrow.

"Black Label Dolan."

Seamus got down the bottle of Jim Beam and poured the drink. He set it in front of Jethro.

"You really shouldn't be drinkin' with your pain meds ya know."

Gibbs looked at Seamus.

"This is my pain meds."

Dolan chuckled.

"Silly me, of course it is. What brings you to our humble establishment this fine Saturday?"

"Got bored sitting around my house."

"No wood working projects?"

"Not currently."

Seamus nodded.

"And how are the rest then?"

"Well, Abby's out too, with a walking cast on her ankle. They're still picking glass shards out of McGee, but he'll be out soon. Tony and Ziva are out of ICU and in private rooms. Ducky's still in the Cardiac Care Unit in the hospital down in Florida."

"At least everybody's alive."

"Yeah, it was touch and go with Ducky, but everybody else should be right back after some rest and rehab."

"And ya got Dearing."

Gibbs grimaced.

"_The FBI _got Dearing. 'Cause we got banged up, the Director turned the job over to them. Morrow or Jenny never would have done that. Crawford's team coulda taken it."

Dolan shrugged.

"At least somebody got him."

Gibbs sighed.

"It still shoulda been us."

Jethro drained his drink and Seamus got him another.

"Thanks Dolan. You're from Boston aren't you?"

"Aye, as you well know."

Gibbs smiled.

"Right. My friend was the lead investigator for the Bureau on this. He sent me over the file. I've been reading it for a couple of days."

Seamus nodded.

_I wonder where he's going with this._

Jethro took a sip of his drink.

"They found Dearing's bomb maker dead in a motel in North Jersey. He was duct taped to a chair with a bullet in his right foot and one between his eyes. Next to him was a legal pad with what looked like all the info this guy knew or guessed about Dearing."

"That so?"

"Uh huh. Looks like he was interrogated 'persuaded' with the shot to the foot and then killed after he gave everything up."

Gibbs sipped some more bourbon.

"This guy, the bomber was from your neck of the woods, Boston."

"Really."

"Yup. About your age too. Name of Frank Donovan. Ring any bells?"

_Oh boy._

"There's a lot of Donovan's in Boston."

"Apparently he grew up in Charlestown. That's where you're from isn't it?"

Knowing that like any good investigator Gibbs would never ask a question like that unless he already knew the answer, Seamus nodded.

"Yes, I grew up in 'the Town'. Knew some Donovan's too. His name doesn't ring any bells."

"Yeah, that's what I figured. The Bureau was happy to get the info the guy left behind. Also they were able to clear a case for the Brits. Apparently this guy blew up six soldiers from the Parachute Regiment for the Provisional IRA."

"Did he now?"

"Yes. They've been looking for him since '72."

Gibbs drained his drink and stood carefully, throwing some money on the bar.

"The Bureau is gonna close the file. They figure Dearing and this Donovan had a falling out. Dearing is denying it of course. My buddy figures it's not worth the resources to follow it up. Whoever did the deed was good. Left no usable physical evidence. Think I'll head home. See ya around Dolan."

With that, Jethro walked carefully out of the bar. Seamus watched him go.

_I wonder…_

Seamus' next visitor showed up around one fifteen. Abby Sciuto limped into the bar, a walking cast on her foot and a skull capped walking staff in hand. Dolan came out from behind the bar and spread his arms wide.

"Good to see ya Abby darlin'."

Abby limped up and Seamus gave her a careful hug, mindful of her bruised ribs.

"Good to be seen Seamus."

Dolan returned to his side of the bar and Abby sat.

"What can I get ya?"

"Coffee will be fine."

"Comin' right up."

Dolan brought back the cup and Abby took a sip.

"You make the best coffee."

"Thanks kiddo. How's Timothy?"

"He'll be getting out in a couple of days. He caught a lot of glass. Luckily his arms covered his eyes."

"Good, good. How are you?"

"I'm good. The ankle hurts a little, but nothin' I can't handle."

Abby sipped her coffee, all the while looking a Seamus. Finally he raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Are you and Ziva doing the nasty?"

"_Say what?"_

"You heard me."

"Why do you ask?"

"She asked me to ask you to come see her."

"So that means we're 'doing the nasty'?"

"Well are you?"

"What did _she _say?"

"She says 'no', but her body language said 'yes'."

Dolan shrugged.

"Then I guess you can take that as your answer."

Abby grinned mischievously.

"Which, yes or no?"

Seamus grinned back.

"You're the forensic scientist, you figure it out."

"Oh, don't you worry buddy boy, I will."

After failing to get any more out of Seamus, Abby finished her coffee and left. At four o'clock, Steve arrived and took over the bar. Dolan went up to his apartment, showered, changed into khakis and a polo shirt, grabbed his car keys and headed out.

The National Naval Medical Center commonly known as Bethesda Naval Hospital is about a half hour from Washington. In 2005 the National Naval Medical Center and Walter Reed Army Medical Center were merged and are now properly called the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center. Everybody in the Navy still calls it Bethesda.

Seamus wheeled his '68 red Pontiac GTO off Rockville Pike onto Wood Rd. There was a small staff parking lot there. The last time he visited someone, he'd got the guard to let him park his car there. The guy was into cars and all it took was some car talk and letting the guy check out the GTO. Luckily the guy was working and Dolan wheeled into the lot and parked. Seamus walked to the main building, showed his VA ID, went thru security and found out Ziva's room number. When he got to her room, he hesitated for a few seconds and then eased in. Ziva was sitting up in bed wearing a grey NCIS t-shirt. Her eyes were closed and there was an IV bag hooked up to her left hand. Seamus made for a chair that was on the right side of the bed. Suddenly Ziva's eyes snapped open. They were unfocused for a second, but then cleared.

"Seamus."

"Hello Zee."

"I was dozing."

"Probably a good thing. How are you?"

"According to my doctor, I should be able to go home on Friday."

"That's great kiddo."

Seamus moved to the bed and took hold of Ziva's right hand.

"Abby came to the bar and said you wanted to see me."

Ziva looked guilty.

"Ah, yes I did."

Dolan smiled.

"C'mon Zee, I'm a big boy. What is it?"

"Remember when you said you'd hang around until I found the right one?"

Seamus nodded.

"Uh huh, and then I'd bow out."

"I think I found him."

Dolan grinned.

"DiNozzo?"

"Yes."

"About time he got his head out of his ass. That's great Zee."

Ziva looked glum.

"Then how come I feel so bad?"

"Because despite what you think of yourself, you're a good person. So you feel bad for me. Don't. I'm really happy for you Zee. You deserve this. And if he hurts you, I'll kick his ass."

Ziva smiled.

"I believe you would."

Seamus leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

"Count on it. Good luck Ziva David. Be well."

And with that Seamus got out of there before he said or did something stupid. For the next seven days Dolan was not very good company. As a matter of fact, the word 'asshole' was used by friends and co-workers, but not within his hearing. On day eight, he woke up at his customary 0530, put on his running gear and pushed out two and a half miles. It was not easy. When he got back to his apartment, he made up a workout schedule. Time to get to work.

**Crowell's Gym, two months later, Monday 1130hrs.**

Seamus Dolan was hitting the heavy bag. Sticking and moving, throwing combinations. Three minute rounds.

_Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee._

"Hey Dolan, you've got a phone call."

Seamus stopped punching and looked over his shoulder. Jimmy Crowell stood in the doorway to his office.

"Who is it?"

"Damned if I know. Got an accent like yours though."

_Well, it's not my brother. He'd of said._

Seamus pulled off his bag gloves and unwrapped his hands. He walked into Jimmy's office and picked up the phone.

"Dolan."

"_Call me."_

"It'll be about twenty minutes."

"_I'll be at the number I gave you."_

After thanking Crowell for taking the call, Dolan headed for the locker room and a steam and a shower. He wondered what bad news Sean Flynn had for him. After leaving the gym Seamus found a working payphone and fed it a bunch of quarters. The line rang twice.

"_Yeah?"_

"It's me."

"_Remember that thing from a couple of months ago?"_

"Sure."

"_Well, some reporter from the _Herald _is looking into it. Ya know, 'local boy does bad'."_

"And?"

"_And she's nosing around the neighborhood."_

"She?"

"_Yeah, Janice Stone. She got my name somehow as knowing the guy and came to see me."_

"That must have been interesting."

"_I told her to get bent."_

"I bet that discouraged her." said Seamus drily.

"_Nah, she's still snooping around. Now I heard she got _your _name from somewhere."_

"So?"

"_So? So, she's gonna find out we all went to school together and eventually she'll be down to talk to you."_

"Well, it's not like I'm going to say anything to her."

"_Yeah, but I'd feel a lot better if she couldn't find you to talk to in the first place."_

Dolan laughed.

"So what are you gonna do? Send Blondie down to clip me?"

"_Very funny asshole. No, I was thinking you could take a little vacation. Maybe to that place I have south of you."_

__Flynn owned a place on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. Seamus visited him there once.

"When do you think I should take this trip?"

"_You get off Sunday right? You could leave then, take two weeks. I'll have somebody you know drop off the keys and like that to ya on Saturday."_

Just like that?"

"_Yeah, and maybe while you're down there ya can do me a favor."_

__"Which is?"

"_My deck needs to be waterproofed."_

"You mean that deck that looks like it belongs on an aircraft carrier, that deck?"

Seamus could sense the laugh in Flynn's voice.

"_Yeah, that one. Whatta ya say?"_

"Alright, no prob."

"_That's my buddy."_

__"Yeah sure. You do know the definition of the word 'buddy' right?"

_"Uh-huh, you told me. How'd that thing with the girl work out? Maybe she could go with ya."_

"She has found 'Mr. Right'."

"_Jeez, sorry man."_

__"Ah, it's all right. Lucky at cards, unlucky at love."

"_But you suck at cards."_

It was true. Dolan couldn't play poker to save his life.

"Oh yeah, that's right. Easy come, easy go?"

"_Whatever. I'll send that stuff down."_

__Dolan hung up and went home. Getting the two weeks was easy. He had plenty of time riding on the books. Flynn's house was in Salvo North Carolina, right on the beach. It was about five and a half hours from DC. Saturday before work, Seamus packed his old sea bag with two week's worth of clothing. In his AWOL bag, he put his Dopp kit, a bunch of CD's and two books from his 'To Be Read' pile. They were _'Good bye Darkness' _by William Manchester and _'The Walking Drum' _by Louis L'Amour. About an hour before quitting time, the blonde from Flynn's office walked in. Today he was dressed in a white linen suit over a black t-shirt. He took a stool facing the door and pulling an envelope from his pocket, slid it over to Dolan.

"Don't talk much do ya?"

The blond stared back for a second. His grey eyes were unreadable. When he spoke his voice had an Eastern European sound.

"My English is not so good."

Dolan nodded.

"_Would you prefer Russian?"_

The blonde's face brightened.

"_You speak Russian!"_

"_Yes, I spent some time living with a woman from Minsk."_

"_I am from St. Petersburg. My name is Gregor."_

"_Nice to meet you Gregor. Drink?"_

"_Vodka."_

Seamus opened a small freezer under the bar and pulled out a bottle of Russian Standard and poured Gregor a shot. The Russian picked it up and drained it. Seamus poured another and it followed the first. Dolan re-stowed the bottle in the freezer. Gregor reached for his wallet. Dolan waved him off.

"_On me."_

_"Thank you."_

"_Welcome. Did you drive down?"_

"_No, I took the train."_

"_Do you need a ride back to Union Station?"_

"_I will take a cab back."_

The Russian stood.

"_Thank you again for the drinks."_

"_My pleasure."_

__Gregor left gliding easily out of the bar. Seamus after getting out of work cleaned his apartment and went to bed early. He awoke the next morning two minutes before the alarm. It didn't take long to load the Pontiac with his sea bag, AWOL bag and a case of Sam Adams summer lager. He'd stop in Nags Head for groceries. Seamus fired up the GTO and left the parking lot a little after six. When he got on 495 he worked thru the gears and the throaty growl of the 410 caused him to sigh. It had been a while since he'd stretched the GTO out. It was good to be on the open road.

_Maybe this was a good idea after all._

**A/N: **I know I said this was gonna be it. But this chapter kinda grew up. Plus I saw the trailer for the season opener. I want to see how the writers play the Tony/Ziva thing. I have two ways this next chapter can go. On another note, about the trailer, did anyone else catch the fact that McGee wasn't in it? Interesting. Also, while I totally buy into 'the suspension of disbelief' that watching TV entails, there is no way the amount of _plastique_ that was in the Director's SUV did as little damage as is pictured in the trailer. And the injuries sustained or should I say the _lack_ of injuries, please. Okay, enough ranting. Hope ya enjoyed it. How about a review or 10? Come on, don't ya think I deserve it? _  
_


	47. Shades of Grey

**DISCLAIMER: The copyrighted material that this work of fanfiction is based upon does not belong to me. It belongs to its various owners. I just borrow it, use it and put it back. No profit is being made by me. Honest.**

**Authors Note: **This chapter is a tag to the season opener. The last five minutes were pretty intense if you ask me. I hope I live up to it.

**SPOILERS: **If you haven't seen the season opener you might want to stop now. Or find it online and then read this

**The Dearing House Present Day, 1112hrs**

The Soviets called it_ mokroye delo _(wet job or wet work). The US calls it 'termination with extreme prejudice'. What it is, is the extra- judicial killing of an individual by the state. The last time NCIS Supervisory Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs performed one of these assignments was 1999 in Paris. Then as now, the word came down from the National Command Authority and Gibbs carried out the task. _This _time though it was personal. In '99 Anatoly Zhukov was just a target, a face in a briefing folder. In 2012, Harper Dearing tried to kill him his team and as many people at NCIS as he could. Luckily he did not kill any of the team, but not from lack of trying. Now Gibbs was about ten minutes from the house that Evan Dearing grew up in. A house Gibbs was pretty sure will contain Harper Dearing. On the drive Jethro went over the case in his mind from beginning to end. He very rarely let emotion get in the way of work.

_But this scumbag almost killed the people who mean as much to me as family._

As Jethro turned into the driveway to the house he started emptying his mind.

_Calm, Leroy, Calm._

The pickup rolled to a stop in front of the house. Gibbs shut off the motor and exited. It was very quiet. Wind chimes tinkled from the front porch. Horses whinnied from the fenced in pasture across from the house. Jethro automatically scanned the far tree line, estimating the distance to be about six hundred yards.

_I wonder who's out there. HRT? SEAL Team 6?, the D-boys? Or maybe my old unit._

Though Leon let him go, Gibbs figured he hedged his bet, sending somebody. If for some reason Gibbs dropped the ball, Dearing would not get away again and the Posse Comitatus Act be damned. As he turned and started walking towards the house, he could _feel _somebody out there.

_I couldn't see 'em, but they're there._

The time between Gibbs leaving DC and arriving here left plenty of time for any of the special operations guys from the capitol area to get here and set up undetected. No matter, Dearing was his. As he walked into the house he rolled his shoulders, loosening them.

_Calm, calm._

Gibbs cautiously opened the front door and could hear the voice of a young man who he assumed was Evan Dearing speaking. As he moved into the room, he saw a folded flag and a cassette player on a card table. In the kitchen, Harper Dearing was fussing with a coffeemaker. Gibbs stood mute by the card table. Dearing gave up on the coffeemaker and picked up a bottle of cheap bourbon, filling two glasses. He asked if Gibbs wanted to sit.

"No."

Jethro declined the offer of a drink with a minimal shake of his head. Dearing spouted some crap from Mary Shelley. Then he went into his justification for all the bloodshed. When he dragged Shannon and Kelly into it by saying "I know what you did for your family", Gibbs _almost _reached out to strangle him. But he kept his hands down at his sides. Still talking, Dearing moved to the window. Gibbs stayed with him, keeping to his left rear. There was a pistol on the sill. Jethro pulled his Zero Tolerance 0302 folder from his pocket, holding it by his right side. Harper Dearing was babbling something, Gibbs was not listening. He was watching Dearing's shoulders. They started bunching. Jethro started to raise the folder, flipping open the blade….

**Beirut Lebanon, Tuesday July 19, 1983 0045hrs**

Sergeant Leroy Jethro Gibbs USMC was easing his way down a rubble-strewn alley in West Beirut. He was followed by his spotter Cpl Justin O'Malley. This was Gibbs' first 'float' as a Scout/Sniper. His platoon was supporting the 1/8 Marines which was part of the Multi National Force trying to keep the various factions in the city from killing each other. It was not going well. This did not concern Gibbs, who was more worried about finding a decent hide, so he and Cpl O'Malley could deal with a couple of RPG gunners who were harassing the Marine positions around Beirut International Airport. Being a newbie, Jethro's platoon leader paired him with an experienced spotter for this mission.

Gibbs moved down the alley stepping carefully, his cased sniper rifle riding easily strapped to his back. They were making for a building that they'd picked out earlier while out on the perimeter of their combat outpost.

As Gibbs reached a large breech in the buildings wall, a militia- man holding an SKS carbine stepped into the alley. Both men were surprised but due to his training and instincts Jethro reacted first. Gunfire was out, so he struck the man in the face with the barrel of his CAR-15. The man grunted in pain as blood gushed from his broken nose. The SKS fell to the ground. Gibbs let go of his carbine and it hung from its combat sling. Jethro lunged forward, grabbing the man around the throat with both hands, shoving him to the ground. The man tried to bring his arms up, getting one hand under Gibbs' chin. Jethro bore down and squeezed harder. His adversary tried to knee him, but Gibbs felt the shift of posture and blocked with his hip. From the start they'd locked eyes and as Gibbs squeezed harder, his opponents eyes started to glaze. Gibbs felt something give under his thumbs and the light went out of the man's eyes. The entire thing took about ninety seconds. Gibbs had made his first up close kill…

**Dearing's House**

Harper Dearing whirled around, pistol in hand. Gibbs slid the knife into his chest, angling it up between the ribs. The blade caught the internal thoracic artery. Dearing dropped the pistol. Gibbs pumped the knife handle once. He'd locked eyes with Dearing from the start and watched as the life left his face. Jethro lowered him to the floor and withdrew his knife, wiping the blade on Dearing's shirt. Closing the knife he put it back in his pocket. Gibbs let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. From his jacket pocket he pulled out his cell speed dialing Vance's number.

"_Gibbs?"_

"It's done Leon."

_"All right."_

The line went dead and in the distance Gibbs could hear the sound of several engines at high revs. He sat in the chair next to the card table. The glass of bourbon Dearing offered earlier was sitting on the table. Gibbs picked it up and downed it in one gulp.

'_Right or wrong, black or white Cross the line you're gonna pay In the dawn before the light Live and die by the shades of grey'- __**Robert Earl Keen**_

**A/N: **So, that's my take on the season opener. Gibbs _could have_ been in Beirut. There is no canon to support that though.


End file.
